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Home »Chapters» Love On The Side Of Ta-Chapter 2
LOVE PEOPLE
Love You By The Side - Chapter 2
View: 1812 | European Novel, Love Story Novel
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Love On My Side
Author: Emily Giffin
Chapter 2
The movie I always loved the most was when Harry met Sally. I love it for a lot of reasons - the beautiful 1980s emotion in it, the extremely hot act of Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan, the passionate scene at Kart's Deli. But the movie I'm most interested in is the scene of young couples, old people, eyes are all sparkling, sitting on the couch, telling stories about how they met each other.
When I first saw that movie I was fourteen, never married, and in one of Suzanne's familiar expressions, I did not know the smell. I have seen Suzanne fall in love with a boy, just to get my heart broken, more than the number of times I bend my braces, and in that love, there is no happiness at all.
Even so, I remember sitting in the cold air-conditioned movie theater wondering where my future husband was - what his appearance and voice was like? Are you in your first date, holding someone's hand, and between them are apple candy bars and a big Sprite bottle? Or are you bigger than that, have gone to college and have full experience of women types as well as about the world? Are you a star midfielder or drummer of a marching band? Will I meet you on a flight to Paris? In a reputation management room? Or on the aisles in the grocery store in my hometown. I imagine we are telling you stories, over and over again, our fingers are on each other, just like those couples are enthralled on the big screen.
However, what I still have to learn is that the stories are seldom easy, as smoothly as in the anecdote of the romantic recollection that we share in the couch. Over time, I understand that almost always, when we hear the story of married couples, there is little poetry left over, just a dreaming moment to be polished over time. . And unless you marry a high school lover (or around that time), otherwise it's usually a past story that's not fun. There are people, places and events that we want to forget over or at least not think about anymore. After all, we can paste on them a nice label - like fate or destiny. Or we can believe that is just a random path that life has opened up.
But no matter what we call it, it seems that every couple has two stories - one that's been refined to share on the couch, and one that is not peeled, is better kept secret. Andy and I are no exception. Andy and I have both.
However, both stories start in the same way. They both started from a letter that appeared in my mailbox on a damp summer afternoon after I graduated from high school - and only a few weeks before my departure from Pittsburgh to Wake University Forest, a beautiful brick-and-mortar school in North Carolina that I found in the university catalog, and then chose after they offered a generous scholarship. The letter contains all the important details about the curriculum, dormitory and professional orientation. But more importantly, it had my predetermined roommate, typed in a whole line: Margaret "Margot" Elizabeth Hollinger Graham. I read your name carefully, along with your address and phone number in Atlanta, Georgia, feeling both impressed and apprehensive. All of our high school students have generic names like Kim or Jen or Amy. I do not know any one who has a name like Margot (the silent T mumbled me most), and certainly do not know anyone has up to two middle names. I'm sure Margot from Atlanta must be one of the beautiful girls featured on Wake Forest's glossy glossy book, wearing pearl earrings and wearing Laura Ashley's freshly cut floral dresses to watch football. . I only wear jeans and hooded sweatshirts for sporting events. I'm sure she has a great boyfriend, and imagine her abandoning the merciless guy at the end of the semester, chasing after one of the high-strung barefooters with the Hy letters. Greece is throwing a plate on campus on the same books.
I remember taking the letter to rush home to tell Suzanne the news. Suzanne is coming in fiveThree at Penn State and very well talked about roommates. I found her in our room, was stuck with thick metallic metal eyelashes and listened to Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" from the radio. I read out Margot's full name, and then spoke out anticipation. In the same tone as in Steel Magnolias, the film became the basis of everything from my South. I even mischievously dragged on the white pillars, Scarlet O'Hara and the maids cast. Although mostly joking, I felt a surge of anxiety that I had picked the wrong school. I should have signed up for Pitt or Penn State like all of you. I'm going to become a runaway fish, a lost Yankee. I watched Suzanne leave the long standing mirror, her arms up to her hips to make the smallest large waist she could not even squeeze, and said, "Voice I heard candy, Ellen. I say as if you are from England, not Atlanta ... Well, what gives her a chance? What if she guessed she was a Pittsburgh girl with no fashion aesthetics? "She laughed and said," Oh my ... she would be all right if she thought so! " gau, "I say but I can not laugh. Ironically, my brooding sister was always full of energy while sarcastically me. Suzanne kept laughing while cassetteing and singing, "I walk on these streets, Then she stopped in the middle of the song and said, "But seriously, regardless of what you know, she can, how is she, a peasant girl? And you know, I would really like it. "" Farmer's daughter usually has four names, huh? "I said again," I never know, "Suzanne said in her motherly voice. But my suspicions seemed to be reinforced a few days later when I received a handwritten letter on pink paper with a beautiful, Margot. Her iridescent crayon signature was a butterfly-shaped cursive, the G letters in her name were all over the M and H. I wondered if any of the wealthy relatives had been ignored by the ignored act. E. The voice is full of emotions (eight dots), but it does not seem strange. She said she was anxious to see me. She tried to call me many times but could not meet me (my house did not have a call waiting or autoresponder, which made me rather embarrassed). She said she would carry a small refrigerator and sound system (I can hear CDs, I do not know much about cassettes). She hopes we can buy the same blanket. She had seen the pink and grayish pink Ralph Lauren, and offered to buy two for us if I liked it. But if I'm not a pink lover, we can turn yellow with lavender, "a great combination." Or turquoise mixed with red coral, "no less interesting." She was just not too keen on the basic design of the colors, but was willing to listen to my suggestions. She wrote to me that she "sincerely" hoped I would rest well for the rest of the summer and signed under the letter "Warm, Margot," a strange, seemingly bland, Fake is rather warm. I have just signed up for the letter "Dear" or "Sincerity," but remember in my mind the next time I try the word "Warm". It's the first of many
things I'm going to imitate Margot. I get up late to call her the next afternoon, holding the pen and paper in her hand to make sure she does not miss anything, such as a thread. Make use of bathroom accessories - make everything just like the real home. The phone rings twice and then a male voice replies. I guess it was Margot's dad or maybe the gardener was entering home with a glass of lemon juice. With the most appropriate phone answer, I asked Margot, "Margot is at the club, playing tennis," said the male voice. Pumpkin. We also have a club, theoretically, but it's actually just a neighborhood pool called the clubhouse, which consists of a rectangular tank, one with a counter eat fast, one end is a jump board, the other is shielded by chain fence. I'm pretty sure the club that Margot comes in is a completely different way. I imagined rows of clay courts, delicious sandwiches on porcelain plates, curved hills of golf courses plagued by willow plants or any native Georgia species. "I have What message for Margot? "he asked. His tongue in the South is very light, just revealed in my words. I hesitated, a little embarrassed, and then hesitated to introduce myself as Margot's upcoming roommate. "Oh, that's it! He is Andy Margot's brother. "And that was it. Andy. My future husband's name - the name that I later learned was full of Andrew Wallace Graham III. Andy went on to say that he studied at Va University.
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Home »Chapters» Love On The Side Of Ta-Chapter 2
LOVE PEOPLE
Love You By The Side - Chapter 2
View: 1812 | European Novel, Love Story Novel
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Love On My Side
Author: Emily Giffin
Chapter 2
The movie I always loved the most was when Harry met Sally. I love it for a lot of reasons - the beautiful 1980s emotion in it, the extremely hot act of Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan, the passionate scene at Kart's Deli. But the movie I'm most interested in is the scene of young couples, old people, eyes are all sparkling, sitting on the couch, telling stories about how they met each other.
When I first saw that movie I was fourteen, never married, and in one of Suzanne's familiar expressions, I did not know the smell. I have seen Suzanne fall in love with a boy, just to get my heart broken, more than the number of times I bend my braces, and in that love, there is no happiness at all.
Even so, I remember sitting in the cold air-conditioned movie theater wondering where my future husband was - what his appearance and voice was like? Are you in your first date, holding someone's hand, and between them are apple candy bars and a big Sprite bottle? Or are you bigger than that, have gone to college and have full experience of women types as well as about the world? Are you a star midfielder or drummer of a marching band? Will I meet you on a flight to Paris? In a reputation management room? Or on the aisles in the grocery store in my hometown. I imagine we are telling you stories, over and over again, our fingers are on each other, just like those couples are enthralled on the big screen.
However, what I still have to learn is that the stories are seldom easy, as smoothly as in the anecdote of the romantic recollection that we share in the couch. Over time, I understand that almost always, when we hear the story of married couples, there is little poetry left over, just a dreaming moment to be polished over time. . And unless you marry a high school lover (or around that time), otherwise it's usually a past story that's not fun. There are people, places and events that we want to forget over or at least not think about anymore. After all, we can paste on them a nice label - like fate or destiny. Or we can believe that is just a random path that life has opened up.
But no matter what we call it, it seems that every couple has two stories - one that's been refined to share on the couch, and one that is not peeled, is better kept secret. Andy and I are no exception. Andy and I have both.
However, both stories start in the same way. They both started from a letter that appeared in my mailbox on a damp summer afternoon after I graduated from high school - and only a few weeks before my departure from Pittsburgh to Wake University Forest, a beautiful brick-and-mortar school in North Carolina that I found in the university catalog, and then chose after they offered a generous scholarship. The letter contains all the important details about the curriculum, dormitory and professional orientation. But more importantly, it had my predetermined roommate, typed in a whole line: Margaret "Margot" Elizabeth Hollinger Graham. I read your name carefully, along with your address and phone number in Atlanta, Georgia, feeling both impressed and apprehensive. All of our high school students have generic names like Kim or Jen or Amy. I do not know any one who has a name like Margot (the silent T mumbled me most), and certainly do not know anyone has up to two middle names. I'm sure Margot from Atlanta must be one of the beautiful girls featured on Wake Forest's glossy glossy book, wearing pearl earrings and wearing Laura Ashley's freshly cut floral dresses to watch football. . I only wear jeans and hooded sweatshirts for sporting events. I'm sure she has a great boyfriend, and imagine her abandoning the merciless guy at the end of the semester, chasing after one of the high-strung barefooters with the Hy letters. Greece is throwing a plate on campus on the same books.
I remember taking the letter to rush home to tell Suzanne the news. Suzanne is coming in fiveThree at Penn State and very well talked about roommates. I found her in our room, was stuck with thick metallic metal eyelashes and listened to Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" from the radio. I read out Margot's full name, and then spoke out anticipation. In the same tone as in Steel Magnolias, the film became the basis of everything from my South. I even mischievously dragged on the white pillars, Scarlet O'Hara and the maids cast. Although mostly joking, I felt a surge of anxiety that I had picked the wrong school. I should have signed up for Pitt or Penn State like all of you. I'm going to become a runaway fish, a lost Yankee. I watched Suzanne leave the long standing mirror, her arms up to her hips to make the smallest large waist she could not even squeeze, and said, "Voice I heard candy, Ellen. I say as if you are from England, not Atlanta ... Well, what gives her a chance? What if she guessed she was a Pittsburgh girl with no fashion aesthetics? "She laughed and said," Oh my ... she would be all right if she thought so! " gau, "I say but I can not laugh. Ironically, my brooding sister was always full of energy while sarcastically me. Suzanne kept laughing while cassetteing and singing, "I walk on these streets, Then she stopped in the middle of the song and said, "But seriously, regardless of what you know, she can, how is she, a peasant girl? And you know, I would really like it. "" Farmer's daughter usually has four names, huh? "I said again," I never know, "Suzanne said in her motherly voice. But my suspicions seemed to be reinforced a few days later when I received a handwritten letter on pink paper with a beautiful, Margot. Her iridescent crayon signature was a butterfly-shaped cursive, the G letters in her name were all over the M and H. I wondered if any of the wealthy relatives had been ignored by the ignored act. E. The voice is full of emotions (eight dots), but it does not seem strange. She said she was anxious to see me. She tried to call me many times but could not meet me (my house did not have a call waiting or autoresponder, which made me rather embarrassed). She said she would carry a small refrigerator and sound system (I can hear CDs, I do not know much about cassettes). She hopes we can buy the same blanket. She had seen the pink and grayish pink Ralph Lauren, and offered to buy two for us if I liked it. But if I'm not a pink lover, we can turn yellow with lavender, "a great combination." Or turquoise mixed with red coral, "no less interesting." She was just not too keen on the basic design of the colors, but was willing to listen to my suggestions. She wrote to me that she "sincerely" hoped I would rest well for the rest of the summer and signed under the letter "Warm, Margot," a strange, seemingly bland, Fake is rather warm. I have just signed up for the letter "Dear" or "Sincerity," but remember in my mind the next time I try the word "Warm". It's the first of many
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