I have a tendency to fall for guys who bicycle to work and follow their dreams instead of dineros. Also, I'm horrible about choosing the right guy, like super horrible. I would have benefited from an arranged marriage or blind date. (And according to Eric, I'm also bad at picking flattering clothes.)
Men that I think would be great for me end up being the worse and vice versa. (Oh, girlfriend, the stories I could tell you!) Back in 2013, I jokingly told our school manager to hire a guy for me. Serendipitously, he hired Eric who he knew from TEFL training days. The first time I saw him he had his back towards me and I thought "no" based on the fact that he wasn't "my type" (Colin Firth) while my future brain was laughing, "you really aren't good at this, are you?"
To make matters worse, I teased Eric a lot. I had (have?) the maturity level of a 13 year old boy who pulls pigtails to show his affection. When responding to his friend Patima, who asked how he liked his new job, he said everything's fine except this one teacher -- who was kind of mean, to which she correctly diagnosed, "Oh, she likes you."
Fast forward seven or eight years later (as I certainly couldn't tell you when we went on our first date or anything like that), we finally got married. No ceremony, no honeymoon, just the equivalent of going to City Hall, but with all the fruit loops of getting it done in Thailand. We've actually been wanting to do this since last year, but Covid kept getting in the way.
Maybe one day we'll do something fancy, but I'm not counting on it. Long gone are the days when dressing up and herding family and friends together sounded fun, I'd rather continue to share my life with the man who adores me and shares the same values. Does that sound old and unromantic? I don't care, that's me. Old and unromantic, but happy.