Good things do happen

It seems as though whenever I wonder how much more I can possibly complain about things (particularly romantic endeavors), something good happens.

Yes, I've got a new beau. And boy, did I have a lot of people demanding details when I changed my relationship status on Facebook. It seems every one of my friends thought they should have been the first to know. I know my sister was shocked and awed by it.

Within the span of a few days, I went from no real romantic possibilities to having a cute guy text me first thing in the morning just to start my day off on the right foot. I too am still in disbelief. Just a little.

But I'm happy. Chris is slightly older and he's mature. He's a total cutie. He holds doors and smothers me in playful kisses. I like the way his hand hovers at my back as we walk together and how he sends me less-than-3 hearts over AIM. And I can wear high heels and don't tower over him!

Oh, and he too is a writer. He uses proper grammar. Hallelujah.

Despite outward appearances and my mother's initial reaction ("Who's that?" she whispered to me as Chris stood in the other room. "My boyfriend," I answered. "Oh boy," she said), I think I may have found a really good match for once. He's someone who wants to make time for me and I am really comfortable in his presence.

I always thought that relationships with boys are like a driver's relationship with cars. There's the car you learn to drive in -- the male equivalent lasts you a lifetime only if you're super lucky. Then there's your next car, the one you own when your parents still want to know where you're going and when. Then you get a fairly nice car that you worked for and bought and with which you're pretty much free to do what you want. You might even get to take it on a road trip.

Of course there are the cars you admire -- the ones in your neighbors' driveways and which you see only through the dealership's glass doors (think Porsche or Lamborghini). For the male equivalent, think Gerard Butler or Bradley Cooper. You can drool over him all you want but sometimes all your hard work won't even afford you a pen with which to sign on the dotted line.

Whichever kind of car I'm in now, I'm not sure. But I'm going to enjoy it before I have to make my first payment.

(The above picture is from 2004's The Notebook.)