There are two reasons that I'm writing this post. Firstly, my lovely (3 glasses of wine down....) mother said something that really interested me at my birthday do on Saturday night. Secondly, the subject of said conversation has fallen in love with the idea of being a part of my blogging journey. And, as I've been reassured that he's an avid fan (and if he's not, he'd bloody better be after this!), I have decided to give him his five minutes of (very minimal) fame.
Now that I've turned twenty, and seem to have aged 189479107 years after this one weekend alone, I've started contemplating the future. And last night, over a chocolate brownie and birthday chinwag with one of my best friends' Kirsty, it came to my attention that one day out of the next 3650 days will hopefully be my wedding day. This, of course, depends on whether I can find a creative, ambitious, funny, optimistic, chilled out, dog-loving, drop-dead-gorgeous, charming, romantic, intelligent groom, who will happily allow me to clutter up his life with antique books and geeky, feminine waffle. No pressure then....
The previous night, I'd mentioned these hopes/concerns to my
The one, for me.
Looking around the room, I'd tried to work out which one of these lovely male friends of mine my mum had her heart set on. I whittled it down to three.
There was Johnno, a wonderful, interesting, well-spoken male creature and great friend of mine, but our 10ft height difference probably wouldn't make the wedding photos easy to arrange. Then I thought she could mean Corey, undoubtedly my best friend of the opposite sex, who both myself and my mother adore. However she'd been trying to get us together for years, and a heart-melting love confession and desire to live happily-ever-after as Mr and Mrs hasn't quite erupted between us just yet. Finally, I thought that maybe she could mean Joseph, the smooth talking, self-confessed 'God' that I'd known forever but had been completely intimidated by until I was 16, before realising that underneath his borderline cocky exterior, was a genuinely lovely, caring guy who could quite easily charm the pants off of most girls. But as much as my mum had been giggling and chatting to him most the evening, he was definitely not the guy that was going to let me clutter his life up with dusty antique books.
Asking her to tell me who it was, she said, "Well, Kathy, if Corey realises he's too good for you, (thanks mum!), then it most definitely has to be Ross."
Ross, ladies, is my brother's best friend, and up until this point, I'd had no idea that while my mother made him cups of tea, subtly flirted with him, and pointed out to me on most occasions how much weight he'd lost, she'd been secretly hoping he might, on one day over the next 3650, become her perfect son-in-law.
And now she's said this, I know the exact criteria my hubby-to-be has to fit in order to impress the folks and be welcomed with open arms into the family, leaving no opportunity for that hideously awkward tension that usually fills the room when introducing your family to a new man-friend.
Ross is deliciously handsome and masculine looking (bonus points for me!), polite and considerate (my nan will appreciate that one!), quick-witted (that's my dad sorted), intelligent and financially secure (that's assuming he hasn't racked up hundreds of thousands pounds worth of debt and kept it quiet), laid-back, extremely genuine, and just a good, all-round-nice kind of person. And while he ticks all of my mums boxes, and let's be honest, most of mine, there are just a few things that are preventing the wedding of the century.
Firstly, Ross (who, to me, is nicknamed Ronald/Ronny C), isn't the biggest fan of little Bella, my small, fluffy sidekick who spends 75% of her life snoozing on my bed. Yesterday, I had to tell him off for not letting her go up on his lap, putting a big, red cross in the 'dog-loving' box.
Secondly, Ronald and my brother are best of friends. Myself and my brother, are not, and I'm not sure he'd take too kindly to watching me waltz down the aisle into his arms!
And thirdly, and probably most crucially, while there's endless, sarcastic romantic/soulmate-related comments flying around between us, there's absolutely no genuine romantic/soulmate-related intent on the cards. He's known me since I used to prance around in pink combats singing along to 'S Club Juniors', for goodness sake! There's never been room for anything more than a sibling style affection!
So, unfortunately for my lovely mother, and for the man himself (I know his heart will be breaking reading this...) Ronny C won't be the man standing at the end of the altar. I am however, extremely relieved that he was my mother's main suggestion, overlooking my ginger stalker called Clive.
And plus, I haven't introduced her to Mr Reynolds yet, anyway! ;)
Who would your mum have you marry if she got the choice?! Is she on the right lines, or way off?
Love to you all!