When you’ve grown up on a diet of Disney fairytales, happily-ever-after rom-coms, and more steamy novels read under the covers at night than you’d ever admit in company; and then spent most of your adulthood as relentlessly single as I have, it’s hardly surprising that there’s a part of my brain nearly constantly fantasizing about meeting my Mr. Right.
In all sorts of improbable situations, random everyday moments, and movie-worthy meet-cutes.
But I don’t think I’ve ever really, fully believed that it could happen to me in real life.
Until it did.
It was the most ordinary day imaginable. I was at work, at the department store where I’d been employed for the past few years. The shopfloor was humming with the usual chatter of customers, and there was music playing over the speakers. Though I couldn’t tell you what song it was; I’d long ago learned to tune that down into the background of my awareness.
Not long into the new year, it was time for an update to some of the displays, now that the glitter of the festive season – and the mess of the post-Christmas sale – was over.
I’m based in the haberdashery department, and honestly, it’s as close to heaven on earth as you can get for me. To be surrounded by shelves and shelves of bolts of fabric, ribbons, buttons, threads, and all kinds of other crafty treasures. Colour, pattern, texture… Some people find it all a bit of a sensory explosion, but...