It almost doesn’t feel real, that story.

It has whirled and fluttered around your whole childhood. Snippets of it have emerged during long car trips and balmy Summer nights spent chatting in the backyard. Sometimes those same snippets stung you, because their story seemed so easy. So sweetly unexpected.

And from the way you hear it, it was.

They were your age, those two. They didn’t really think they would meet anybody that night, at that function. But they attended it just in case. You wonder what she was wearing. Whether it was her petite figure, her bright frilly dress or flashy eyes which initially caught his attention.

She was back in the real world, after making a brave choice to leave her life as a nun three weeks earlier. He had long hair which his mother hated. It sounds made up. It isn’t.

Somehow, they started talking. She gave him her number on a scrap of paper, which he still carries in his wallet thirty three years later. It’s see through now. I guess paper is more permanent. Nobody can delete it from their phone at the press of a button. They started to go out. She tells you how they argued a lot at the start. About their beliefs and what they thought life was all about.

He says that he knew after two weeks that they would get married. He waited another month before he proposed, so he wouldn’t look like he was crazy. When he did ask her, after driving to the top of a mountain in the country, she slapped his face and said no. Turns out she did think he was crazy. But half way down the mountain she asked he was thinking straight, and she changed her mind.

She resembled Snow White on her wedding day. All peaches and cream complexion, perfect hair curled under her white veil. His suit was a sign of the times, blue velvet with a ruffled shirt. More of an Austen Powers look. He insists it was cool back then.

Slowly but surely they worked, tried to do the right thing, had two children, built a house and were good to their own parents. They watched their friends go on overseas trips while they held out for a rainy day.

And now that day has come. The karma has paid off. They left this morning for the European holiday they always dreamed of. I am so happy for them.

Sometimes my mum doesn’t understand why this story hasn’t happened to me yet. After all, it happened to them. I try to explain that they are the lucky ones. That having this story is like being struck by lightning.

And inside I hope and pray, as I go on bad dates and kiss frogs, that lightning strikes the same place twice.