Somewhere between the tension of being deeply practical and sensible and being, well, somewhat fierce, I . . .
It wasn’t that I hadn’t realized I’d fallen in love with this guy. I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb. I’m smart enough to know when I’ve fallen in love. No. the problem was that I am practical and sensible. Practical and sensible women do not fall in love with someone they have known for two months.
It doesn’t matter that said man went and bought snacks for my trip to Montana, and carefully figured out what I like to drink and bought me that and carefully remembered that I really like Cheesies and included chocolate and pepperoni (because he felt that I am often short on consuming protein). It doesn’t matter that he called me almost every night and listened to me talk about how crazy things were. It doesn’t matter that he spoils my dog and likes my cats and brings me coffee in bed. It does not matter that I get texts asking what I ate for lunch, which is really a gentle reminder to eat lunch, because we both know damn well I have forgotten to eat. Again.
It was impractical to have fallen in love with someone you have known for 8 weeks. It didn’t matter that I had fallen in love with him, the sensible and rational part of my brain pointed out that you can’t fall in love with someone that quickly. It’s unwise. It’s a great recipe to get hurt, how much can you really know someone in 8 weeks, he could be an ax murderer . . . . It is not practical or sensible to fall in love with someone in 8 weeks.
It is now 10 weeks.
I’ve fallen in love with him.
Thought you should know that.