As we fell in love this summer, I was taken by aback by his ability to play. On our first date we secretly (I timidly, he boisterously) raced through grass, climbed on window sills, and walked along the banisters of somebody else's house. We had not asked to be there, and I was worried silly that we were going to be arrested and possibly burned at the stake for trespassing. But my date was calling me to follow him, which intrigued me, so I did.
A few days later we took our Chipotle to a local playground. As we ate inside a child-sized cubbyhole, with wood chips on the floor, and giant tires on the walls, we were bombarded with enemy fire. "KISSY KISSY! OOooOooo LOOOVE!" the attackers chanted. Their weapons of choice were twigs and pebbles and fat, sticky fists to bang on the walls. Oh, and their fat, sticky legs to run away when we made faces back at them. Before long we found ourselves in a giant game of tag - unsure who was it, or what happened if one was tagged, or how to get untagged, or if there was a jail or a base or... even a goal!... to this game. But we ran and sweated and horrified mothers that summer night, with squealing children provoking us.
That was only the beginning of my rekindled (and very unexpected) affair with playing. In my mind I imagined banter, flirting, a breakthrough long conversation (probably late at night), going to restaurants, traveling to nearby towns, maybe some picnics or hikes or nights in to watch TV. As much as I love the Ikea scene
from 500 Days of Summer, I guess I imagined moments like those as special, out-of-the-ordinary, the exception to the rule. He took my very adult and formal and intellectual ideas about dating and rearranged those
to be the exception. Playing is my new lifestyle. I've met my best friend, my favorite human and my play-mate. Dancing, jumping, tackling, teasing, quoting, chasing, inventing recipes or rules for anything, laughing, imagining, dreaming, screaming while begging not to be tickled, adventuring and dilly-dallying is my life with him.
Our wedding is going to, I'm dreaming!, make that clear. In the least cliche' way possible, we are finding ourselves very inspired by Cinderella. She has a stunning blend of child and queen. She weaves seamlessly in and out of talking to animals, singing songs about visiting a castle, crafting mini-mouse wardrobes and wandering palace halls, rocking in a shimmering gown, in the arms of a real (adult) prince under the moonlight. The carefree and the goofy meet the extravagant and the rich.