In the Loop With Stoop: Live Love Laugh

Columnist Anne Stoop get's a little snarky about Cupid's antics

Love. It’s a word that shows up on bedding, home decorations and perfumes. There’s a big chance your cashier will even have it tattooed on her upper thigh. If not, at least your aunt will have a decoration piece that shouts “Live Laugh Love” at you.

These aggressive signs have always made my skin crawl. Not just because they’re hideous but mostly because they’re lies. When is love truly something to live and laugh about?

Oh sure, in the movies it is. Girl meets boy, boy and girl face issues, girl and boy stay together forever and live, laugh, love until the screens cut to black.
In real life, it’s all a bit different.

For one, no one looks as good as those damn actors and secondly, love is so much messier than a three-stage act. For one, the people you want to be attracted to, read tall and handsome, are hardly ever the people you fall in love with, read short and reasonably attractive.

I remember a date I once had, as he walked up, my brain gave him a solid pass. Sure, he wasn’t ugly, but our children would not turn into supermodels. Yet, of course, this was the guy that set my body and soul on fire the second he grazed my knee. Infuriating.

Definitely, because I had once met the man who could give me supermodel children. Not only that, he would take me in his super cool mountain van and would show me the stars while we would roast marshmallows over a fire. You guessed it; this man touched my knee multiple times. And all I could think about was a drowning shark.

While you might start to think of me as a woman with a true ambition to become a Hollywood show mum, my annoyance at love is not truly directed at the hotness of my love interests.

It all revolves around the lack of control. Why can I not consciously pick whom I fall madly in love with? Who is actually in charge of that decision? When does my body decide to have wobbly knees at the sight of man, and when does it not?

Is there truly not a way around this maddening random selection process? Or is that exactly the point. Is love meant to be just that? Something we cannot control with to-do lists, planners or money. Is it to teach us to trust and surrender?

As I’ve tried to fool love time and time again, and miserably failed time and time again, I think it’s time for me to do just that. Trust the baby wearing diapers and surrender to his love arrows. Or lack off.

I’ll live and laugh, and one day soon I’ll love. I’ll just have to find a different, non-supermodel career for my children. Since we all know cupid has got a wonky taste in men. Maybe his guys are always a whole lot nicer, smarter, kinder and caring than my selections. Details.

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