When Harry Met Sally

So I was sitting at home today watching When Harry Met Sally, and I suddenly got the urge to start blogging again. I love so much about that movie from it's the good eighties feel, the quirky chemistry between Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal, to that infamous orgasm scene in Katz's Deil. But I know my favorite part is probably those little old, twinkly-eyed couples, perched on the couch fingers laced, telling their tales of how they fell in love. I was about sixteen years old when I first saw the movie and anyone who knew me back then knows I was boy crazy. I would fall hard and fast for a number of boys, only to brush them off in a matter of weeks. I do remember sitting in my small room late at night watching this movie instead of studying for some Algebra II test wondering where my future husband was at that moment in time. How did he look? What did his voice sound like? What was he doing at that very second? Was he on a first date, holding hands with some girl in a darkened air conditioned theater with a tub of popcorn in between them? Or was he much older, already in college and experienced in the ways of the world. When would I meet him? I always imagined being one of those old couples sitting on that couch after 50 years of marriage still telling our story over and over again to anyone who would listen.

What I had yet to learn, though, is that things are seldom what they seem. I figured out over time is that almost always, when you hear those stories from married couples, there is a little poetic license going on, a romantic spin, polished to a high shine over time. And unless you marry your high school sweetheart, there is usually a not-so-glorious back story. There are people and places and events you'd prefer to forget or at least gloss over. In the end, you can slap a pretty label on it--like serendipity or fate. Or you can believe that it's just the random way life unfolds, but no mater what you call it, it seems that every couple has two stories. The edited one to be shared from the couch and the unabridged version, best left alone.