Moist Noder Love

We had met through Mish, his sister, my closest friend at work. She had decided we would get along well, so she put her cupid hat on and went to work with a barrage of arrows.

I wasn't ready to fall in love again - I'd had my heart broken six months before, but for the first time in my life, I decided to relax and see what happened.

For a long time nothing did. He had my email address, but for months I didn't hear a word, and then one Friday afternoon, as I got ready to leave work, a link to a singing sheep appeared in my inbox.

I replied with a beating heart, not knowing why I was suddenly so nervous and excited, and then went home for the weekend. The five weeks that followed were a luscious courtship, where we learned about so many parts of each other's lives, and grew closer and closer as friends. He fascinated me. His words painted colourful images in my mind, even when describing something as simple as a pair of trousers. I saw a lot of the world with new eyes during those weeks, yet I didn't see him face to face once.

After five weeks Mish invited both of us around for a drink. I sat nervously next to him, the unknown of what he wanted making me feel 14 again. Mish, being the subtle cherub that she is, got up to get a bottle of wine and said "So are you two going to snog or what?", and walked out.

We sat on the couch as the sparks crackled between us, and after a few long moments started to laugh. "OK, so he doesn't want to kiss me", I thought.

The evening drew to an end, he walked me out to my car and hugged me goodnight. I looked up at him and said "I'm going to kiss you now", and I did. It was the perfect kiss. I lost myself as he nibbled my lip and gently took my breath away.

That was two years, two months and two weeks ago.

From very early on we spent almost all of our spare time together. I waited for him to push me away, or to show me a part of himself which would make me not want him any more. I've stopped waiting. He fits me perfectly.

After a month he told me he loved me, and regardless of how I didn't think I was ready to fall in love again, I realised I loved him too.

We moved in together after five months. I'd always planned to date someone for two years, move in for a year and then get engaged. It seemed like a perfect plan, until I met Greg. We found a perfect house to rent together, moved in, and within weeks, got adopted by a gorgeous stray cat we've named Nori. Our family has now grown to include Bob, a big stray tom who, just like Nori, walked in one day demanding food and love.

I expected living together to be difficult; after all, every piece of relationship advice I've read says that being in a relationship isn't easy, and you have to work hard to make it work.

To be blunt, that's bullshit. It's not a chore to talk openly with the person you love. It's not hard to look after them when they are sick, or tired, or grumpy. The whole point of loving someone with all your heart is that you do this because it makes both of you feel good, and doing anything but this would be painful and difficult.

Since moving in we've travelled throughout South Australia, driving half way across the world's biggest island to watch a total solar eclipse. We've laughed at silly things, we've shared our souls and our dreams with each other, and we've made the most passionate of love.

It hasn't gotten harder to find the spark, or to spend our time together - I am happier than I have ever been, because I'm sharing my life with my perfect partner.

I love him for so many reasons and in so many different ways. It's his intelligence, his sense of humour, his tenderness, his selflessness. It is the way he is different from any person I have ever known. It's the way he understands me, when even I don't know what I'm on about. It's the way I catch him looking at me at the oddest moments, with love and pride and lust.

On December 20th 2003, Greg proposed to me. We had gone to see some short films by Bill Plympton and wandered outside into Federation Square for a coffee. As the sun slowly set between the buildings of Melbourne's CBD, one coffee turned to 3 coffees and 4 Hoegaardens, as the day to day stuff stopped, and we basked in distractionless time together. As the shadows lengthened and our faces bathed in a soft, orange glow, the conversation between us flowed into more personal, loving utterings of the happiness we've found in each other. That's when he, in a most beautiful, simple way, looked into my eyes with so much love, and said "Ania, will you marry me?"

He didn't get down on one knee, he didn't ask me by paying some guy to write those words in the sky, and the moment couldn't have been more beautiful. Our equality is one of the things which makes our relationship so amazing, and living life with him by my side is what I want most in this world.

I'm sure I said yes, though that bit eludes my memory, because although we had talked about spending our lives together, when he actually uttered those words, I melted.

I know it's a girlie thing to do, to dream of finding The One, and living happily ever after, but when you find the person who fits you so perfectly, cheesy cliches have a way of making perfect sense.