ah, love.

he other night, i went to the bar across the street. this bar and i have a love/hate relationship because the bastards that loiter outside of it at 3am on weekdays keep me up at night (it's gotten so bad that if i wake up in the middle of the night, i can tell what time it is by the volume of the ruckus outside) and yet, it's the most convenient place to go for a drink. i went there the other night to meet some already sufficiently drunk and rowdy male friends (i would have hated them if i was trying to sleep). after the thorough entertainment of watching them act like idiots and helping them hobble out of the establishment, i was about to cross the street to go back home when some gentlemen started talking to me.

it was totally innocent, so i didn't mind having a friendly chat, even if they were a little tipsier than i was. after a few minutes of conversation, a friend of theirs, a short, slightly balding, beady-eyed, beak-nosed, crooked-smiled, altogether awkward guy came out to join in. and then, all of a sudden, the two gentlemen i had been talking to were gone. Poof! Like loyal wingmen, they had helped their friend, and made their way back into the bar.

so i was stuck outside with this guy, let's call him Little Man, and we started talking. it was clear that he had little to no social graces; in a matter of minutes, while trying to make me laugh, he had insulted my hometown ("LA? you don't look fake enough for LA!"), intellect ("are you sure you want to go into books? are you sure you read enough?" ), and even my heritage ("you're indian? hope you're in the right caste..." ). he was striking out in ways i didn't even know existed. and yet, i felt bad for Little Man; i could clearly see he was trying to be charming and funny, but just going about it in all the wrong ways. he asked if he could buy me a drink, and against my better judgement, i said yes (i was feeling altruistic) (besides, we're in a recession, people, it's getting harder and harder to get a free beer.). about three sips into my drink he managed to insult my skin color ("hey, at least you're not as dark as he is!"). quickly, i got the hell out of there.

the next morning, i was marveling at the wrongness of the wrong guys. normally, in order to make myself feel better when i'm feeling particularly demoralized about men, i go to the weddings and celebrations section of the new york times, because sometimes all you need is a success story. and while i wasn't sure that a simple article could cure the hopelessness i felt after this particularly horrifying encounter, i figured every little bit helps. what i found was remarkable.

i read this and have hereby found a way to remedy every post-Little Man gloom from now on.

not that i'm a cynic, but i'm pretty realistic when it comes to l-o-v-e and such (i.e. i believe love fades, marriage is a contract, and my boyfriend will never go to europe without me because he will most certainly cheat with some irresistible italian girl), but a love story like Macmanus and Funke is a Meg Ryan romantic comedy waiting to happen. it makes me believe in not just flighty, exciting love, but the responsible, smart, sticky love that runs deep.

faith restored, for now.

Daily Drop Cap by Jessica Hische