After landing on the runway at National Airport a few weeks ago following a trip to Mexico, my cell phone vibrated repeatedly with news from my best girl. She is in love. As I patiently awaited the reappearance of my overstuffed bag at the luggage carousel, I called to listen to her amour-intoxicated voice describe her knight in all his untarnished valiance; she sounded as relaxed and jovial as I’d ever heard her. I beamed. I adore hearing tales of love-revelation, particularly when it’s my best girl who has unearthed her long-merited, romantic compliment. I absolutely cannot wait to meet this fresh, deep-water catch.
Our conversation later reminded me of some unsolicited advice I gave last year, when my sweetheart was being slandered by a woman scorned. Though horribly misconstrued, the intent of my pointed blog post was to remind the Infuriated that love can never be forced, nor should we permit ourselves to erupt green with jealous vitriol when the path we have taken to find it dead ends. We stumble unknowingly through a series of unfit lovers until the yin to our yang comes along and when he does, it’s glorious. I wonder now, when an irrefutable love has been deservedly delivered to her doorstep, if she’ll understand that the blunt vocalization of my counsel was never uncongenial. I hate to see a woman suffer, whether a best friend or a complete stranger. In fact, despite that we have never met, I feel oddly delighted by her new found happiness.
I cannot stress enough the validity of the most common of clichés; “when you know, you know” and nothing else is worth the draining effects of wrathful, heartbroken spite. If rapture, trust and devotion do not instantly envelop both parties in a milkshake of sanguine euphoria, then the recipe needs an ingredient overhaul. And tender patience is the only means to reach that perfect state of satisfaction with the partner for whom we are intended.
Our conversation later reminded me of some unsolicited advice I gave last year, when my sweetheart was being slandered by a woman scorned. Though horribly misconstrued, the intent of my pointed blog post was to remind the Infuriated that love can never be forced, nor should we permit ourselves to erupt green with jealous vitriol when the path we have taken to find it dead ends. We stumble unknowingly through a series of unfit lovers until the yin to our yang comes along and when he does, it’s glorious. I wonder now, when an irrefutable love has been deservedly delivered to her doorstep, if she’ll understand that the blunt vocalization of my counsel was never uncongenial. I hate to see a woman suffer, whether a best friend or a complete stranger. In fact, despite that we have never met, I feel oddly delighted by her new found happiness.
I cannot stress enough the validity of the most common of clichés; “when you know, you know” and nothing else is worth the draining effects of wrathful, heartbroken spite. If rapture, trust and devotion do not instantly envelop both parties in a milkshake of sanguine euphoria, then the recipe needs an ingredient overhaul. And tender patience is the only means to reach that perfect state of satisfaction with the partner for whom we are intended.
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