Chance Favors Only Those Who Court Her

by Debbie from Missives from Suburbia

After a less-than-friendly divorce, I was on the market again. Seizing the opportunity, my friends scoured their address books and Palm Pilots for single men and set me up on blind date after blind date. My reaction to most of those dates was, "I call these people my FRIENDS?" One of my real friends suggested Match.com, and given how much I love the Internet, I gave it a go.

A couple months of e-dating passed by in a blink. It was fun, but so far nothing meaningful had hit my radar, and my match inventory was starting to run low. You see, Match.com "matches" you to people based on a list of your requirements, and I'd pretty much run through all my existing matches who didn't seem psycho or stoned, based on their profiles.

Then, one day, I got an email from a guy who was not a match by my standards. He asked me out. I declined, although I tried to be funny about it. He asked again, because he found me amusing. He was funny, too, but once again I declined. He just wasn't my type. He pressed, listing attributes like a fervent love of movies and adoration of museums as reasons to go out with him. I replied that I hate the movies, and I never go to museums. But his persistence and wit convinced me to talk to him on the phone.

We talked for two hours that first time. I liked his voice, and he was just as funny and interesting over the phone, but he still wasn't my type.

I agreed to meet him for dinner. He had a nice smile, and he dressed well. He also had great taste in restaurants, and I am a foodie. Nonetheless, he was not my type.

Six weeks later, our friendship continued to deepen, and we agreed that since we both needed a vacation, we would go together. A platonic vacation. No, really. Platonic, because he still wasn't my type.

We returned from vacation, and we were still "just friends". Because – yes, you guessed it – he just wasn't my type.

A month after our vacation, I began dating this man who was not my type. Less than two years later, we were married. Two years after that, our beautiful son joined the family.

In a span of a few short years, an email in my inbox went from being an amusing distraction to becoming my life's love, teaching me that opportunity comes in many forms. Sometimes, they aren't even your type.

Debbie spends her days playing mommy to one human child and four large fur kids, and her nights hunched over her laptop, desperately trying to find the perfect shoes. She busily pursues life, liberty and happiness amidst the chaos of a home buried in diapers and dog hair located in the Twin Cities and believes that suburbia is not a location, but a state of mind. http://missivesfromsuburbia.blogspot.com