Mr. F. celebrates Mardi Gras every year. And since the beauty who prophesied our nuptials--we'll call her Sara--is a Katrina refugee from New Orleans, her family invited him to come celebrate with them for a few years running. And by Mardi Gras, Sara and I had made good friends. Our schedules just happened to be open at the same times and got to grow our friendship in such a sweet way. Every now and again, she would mention this man I must meet; but I was determined not to fall in love with some imaginary Mr. F.--who was surely too good to be true. And who was in another relationship.
But this is supposed to be his beginning. ahem.
He met Sara's family in New Orleans for the week. Oh, and brought along his girlfriend. And one morning, as he was cooking breakfast for everyone, Sara was chatting with him and said, "I met your soul mate."
...silence. So she continued, "When you break up with her (nodding in the direction of girlfriend) , you give me a call."
Notice what didn't happen. Mr. F. didn't say, "Yeah, me too. She's right in the other room." Nor did he protest in any way. There's no way Sara could have known what was going on inside Mr. F's mind and heart. But he was on that hard road of realizing that though this person he was dating was wonderful and lovely and so many beautiful things, she wasn't the missing piece to his puzzle. And sometimes when someone seems so perfect, it doesn't make sense why she doesn't feel like a perfect fit.
Sara's words were instrumental in his sorting all this out in his head. And mere weeks later, he called Sara up and said, "Alright. Where's my soul mate?"
"She was very beautiful--to his thinking
the very pink of feminine grace,
and replete with charms--
soft in voice, soft in manner,
with just enough spirit to give her character."
by Anthony Trollope