Later, in my twenties, I moved on to Lifetime Movie romances. Those were better, right?
So was it any wonder I ended up dating the worst kind of losers imaginable? Let's face it--my idea of love was fashioned after multiple series in which everyone was rich, doctors had loads of time to hang out and neck with the nurses, and people killed their sisters so they could be with their husbands. No one on these shows seemed to have any problem finding someone to marry, nor did they have any difficulty finding someone with whom to have an affair (all with Christopher Cross songs playing in the background). I mean, really! I was doomed from the start.
After a long string of absolutely ridiculous relationships with men across the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans (I don't know what that was about--for some reason I thought exotic men were romantically superior), I eventually moved from soap-opera-inspired sob stories complete with drama and tears and late-nite trans-pacific phone calls to my mother, to finally listening to what the Good Lord was trying to tell me--since He was practically screaming at me, "Give it up! You're not going to marry an Australian!"
But it took me until I was a 30 year-old--returning from the land of Oz for third time--to listen.
So I admit it. I became a dating-site groupie. I joined Match and eharmony simultaneously, rivalling Blanche DuBois in my desperation. I met some absolute slugs on Match.com (and others were quite scary actually...like, escape-from-Norman-Bates kind of scary). Most of the men I met on eharmony were nice, but just...I don't know...there was something about moving to Iowa, or South Dakota, or Taiwan that didn't interest me.
Would there ever be a happy ending for me? Would I ever find my Heathcliff? My Hamlet? My Lord George Gordon Byron? (Thankfully, the answer to these questions was no). BUT...at the age of 34, I finally met my Stephen. We met on eharmony in March of 2006, and after a whirlwind romance, we married in October of that same year.
Today marks our 8th anniversary. I'm so thankful that General Hospital was wrong, and I didn't have to fall off of a yacht, or have amnesia, or kill my boyfriend's wife (only to have her reappear in a shower later on and discover that it was all a dream) in order to find true love.
I'm also really thankful that I didn't marry the sort of man I would have chosen in my late teens or early twenties (good heavens...you can't even imagine...[see below, where you may find evidence of my confusion]).
God truly knew what He was doing when He put us together. And what I now know is marriage is tough, and so is true love. And yes, sometimes my life does resemble a soap opera (just a little), but I wouldn't trade this guy for all the tortured Byronic souls in the world.