The Love of My Life Is Hiding In: Hamburg

I’m living in Hamburg and the love of my life might be, too.

He’s tall and bearded and named something very German like Moritz or Nils or Jan. Much like my French soulmate, he’s a man of the arts. He loves poetry and painting and even dabbles in pottery. We go to an arts and crafts store on our first date and I know right then that it’s true love.

He has a small family so he always appreciates spending time with my big one; he looks forward to trips to Atlanta as much as I do and spends a lot of time with the kids. He often jokes that he doesn’t want us to start having kids until our 40’s, but doesn’t object when I counter that I don’t want kids at all.

German is his first language, but he’s fluent in English and French as well, and we spend long summers in Paris where I never stop being impressed when he speaks. He cooks and even I like most of the dishes; the less fancy ones, of course. He doesn’t like my cooking at all, which is fine with me since I prefer to do the dishes after meals to cooking them. Who takes out the trash is always a fight because he doesn’t believe in gender roles (which is also always a fight).

Dad likes him because he can box and Mom likes him because he’s handy and Paris likes him because he treats me well. Jen likes him because he sends Roman books sometimes and Brandon likes him because he knows random things other people don’t care enough to learn. The only person who gives him shit is Terrance because…well…it’s Terrance. When we get married in a courthouse without telling anyone, they’re not even surprised.

I’m keeping my eyes open for him, y’all. I’ll let you know when finally stumbles into my life. It’ll probably happen during a trip to Berlin.

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