I was completely captivated by the beauty of his words. They were tender, heartfelt, poetic. "You must know—surely you must know that it was all for you. … You have bewitched me, body and soul."
Too bad these words were written by a woman.
I'd gone to see the movie version of Pride and Prejudice with my three sisters. It was a bit strange to sit there, the only married woman of the bunch, and watch as the Bennet sisters sought their potential mates. After all, I no longer wonder how, where, or when I'll meet my husband.
To borrow a popular phrase: Been there. Done that. And frankly, I'm glad.
Glad that instead of waiting eagerly for "Mr. Right," I now can marvel at the wisdom of God's matchmaking, putting together two people who complement and challenge each other.
But being the married one of the bunch also has its drawbacks. I'd lost the ability to believe men could be romantic in the way Jane Austen penned them.
Once the film ended, it took a few minutes for me to pry myself from my seat. I wanted to bask in the glow of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth's romance. The romance filled with words I didn't hear on a daily basis. Words that were much more romantic than, "Are the dishes in the dishwasher clean?" or "Did you get a chance to wash my white t-shirts?"
As we left the theater, I turned to one of my sisters and said, "Real men don't talk like Mr. Darcy." And that's all it took for discontent to set in. I began to examine how the romance between my husband and me had seemingly disappeared.1