Hey guys, my name is Madeline, but you can call me Mads for short. I’ll answer to either. This article is just me pretending to be Carrie Bradshaw, which means I have to pretend that I have even seen an episode of Sex and the City. (I have not and, in fact, had to look up if it was Sex and the City or Sex in the City because I was not sure). Unlike Carrie Bradshaw, (or my possibly inaccurate view of Carrie Bradshaw) I am perpetually single.
However, just yesterday, a momentous event occurred in my life. I was walking to the Huddle at around 7 p.m., and I held the front door open for the person behind me, like my good Catholic school training taught me to do.
Little did I know that this small act could lead to the biggest moment in my life so far, for I held the door open for a cute guy. Wow! Ring the alarm. And that is not even the best part. This man, who must also have been taught well by his own Catholic school upbringing, responded with “thanks.”
Our eyes met in a fleeting moment of passion and I quickly turned away to hide the smile creeping on my face.
Yes, this was only a small moment, but in my head, it is now so much more. Dear kind sir, I do not know your name, and only barely remember your face, but you have made a lasting impact. If you are out there, feel free to contact me. If you are a white, tall, lanky kid with brown hair who looks like his father is a lawyer, and was in LaFun at some point, still feel free to contact me.
Even if you do not reach out, that is okay, because in my head, we are booking the Basilica in 2022 for a spring wedding. It won’t be all smooth sailing in our relationship. There will be extended years of sharing one goddamn sink in a one bedroom apartment—can you clean up your toothpaste residue just once in a while?—but our fights will only drain our will to look for anything more emotionally fulfilling. And, ultimately, we will always decide to stay together just to keep the Notre Dame tradition alive. I’ll yell at you for still mentioning your ex-girlfriend, and you will shout back at me for being too clingy and selfish.
Eventually, we will separately and privately realize that we can do no better than each other, book the Basilica for the aforementioned season and year, and get married before hopefully settling in a north shore suburb of Chicago. You will work for a top four consulting company (not anything else I stg), and I will raise our two children, Charlie and Emma, while staying at home and writing my soon-to-be best selling novel.
We will want to get divorced after some time, but we will stay together and focus on our kids, who will definitely be going to Notre Dame or at least Boston College. I will cry when we drop off Emma at the newest Welsh/Walsh dorm, and you will comfort me before surprising me with an all-inclusive cruise to the Caribbean. Our kids will be successful, and we will retire to Naples, Florida, on the fiftieth anniversary of our love’s unceremonious death. A true romantic tale.
But for now, you are just the guy who said thank you for when I propped the door open. Call me. My favorite hobby is overthinking.
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