After spending years browsing Tinder and Bumble and selling used gadgets on Buy and Sell to meet someone, I have the man of my dreams.
Yes, I’ve finally met my soulmate – the only awkward thing is that I’m married to his father.
Luckily, Darling Husband is a close second, and we’ve all come to terms with the fact that there’s officially three of us in this marriage.
Forever I have vowed never to be one of those mothers who came into conflict with the ancient Irish mother-and-her-son tradition, the matriarch who sees her male offspring as none other than the next Messiah (I refer me of course to Justin Bieber). .
However, when it comes to allegations of falling under the mother-son stereotype, I am guilty as charged.
Yes, faster than you can influencestar Norman Bates supplied the word ‘mother’, I am already fully aware that my love for Ted will never be surpassed.
I’ve always thought of myself as a weirdo and I’m more accepting of that as I get older.
This is especially true when it comes to comedy, where I’ve unleashed my inner Rocky Horror Picture Show with varying degrees of success.
But since becoming a parent and Ted being at that age where his personality is starting to shine through, I’ve had a newfound acceptance of being a weirdo.
Because Ted’s answer reminds me that it’s okay to be weird, it’s brilliant, also because it means we like each other. And what’s not to like in Ted’s eyes?
At a recent bachelorette party, I asked the DJ to play a wish for the bride. “I don’t have a microphone,” he said, and with those three simple words, I’ve aged about a thousand years.
The days of sticky dance floors may be over, but if Ted taught me anything, it’s that any dance floor can be a dance floor if you shake your hips.
In a past life, I was always ready to fall to that disco-pop beat when a supermarket soundtrack would shift into gear, looping from playing James Blunt to Blackstreet’s sudden and inexplicable “No Diggity.” I have always applied the philosophy that life is too short not to dance. As a result, I’ve been spanked more than once by a partner (DH of course excluded) or a friend in the cookie department when I suddenly started spinning like nobody was looking.
But now that I’m dancing in unconventional places, I’m no longer a stranger.
Every time I’ve been made to groove in a freezer, Ted cheers me on – and I have no doubt his reaction will be the same as I show off my best moves while overseeing his first Junior Cert disco circa 2035.
My job as a comedian is to stand on a stage and beg strangers to love us.
There’s certainly a “want” in us: After watching half a season of Grey’s Anatomy, I’m pretty sure that’s an official medical term.
Ted is the best audience because he always laughs at the right time. He’s yet to step in with a sympathetic laugh during build, accidentally disrupting the comedic cadence.
Instead, he has an innate grasp of joke structure and punch lines. Am I reading too much into a two year old’s reaction to my “peekaboo” humor?
Of course I am. I’ve lost track and am one step away from campaigning for the voting age to be lowered to two so that Ted can vote in the local elections.
One of the things I love most about Ted is his wonderfully sensitive soul.
Being an absolute aerobar myself, I can only hope, as far as what strangers think of me, that Ted isn’t as open to other people’s thoughts and opinions.
In a world of Cadbury Flakes, I want to help him grow into a hardy Yorkie (not just for girls since recent advances towards gender equality).
Perhaps what makes Ted my dream man is that he doesn’t give me tips while driving (the only time DH and I start googling cancellations is when one of us is navigating).
Ted has been known to applaud my parallel parking when I reverse at a rate similar to the rate at which Elon Musk attempts to reverse legally binding contracts.
The big test of my perfect man will come when he’s armed with a cell phone.
Will he answer my calls? does he text me back
Going back to my previous relationships with West Kerry men, the odds are slim, but something about Ted makes me think he might be the exception.
Yes, I finally met an Irishman who understands me – all I had to do was make him.
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