I am so talented. Seriously.

The only thing is – I have to keep my talents under a bushel. Apparently my matchmaking skills are like birthday candles – if you talk about what you want to happen, it won’t come true.

Case in point: Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban.

Yes, that was all me. Actually, it did include an assist from Amanda Farmer (and Misti too, if memory serves me correctly).

We were planning the future of the universe talking one day in college, as you do, you know. And of course, we decided it would be a good move for Nicole and Keith to get together. Lo and behold, less than a year passes, and they get together and fall in love and he writes songs and album dedications for her and says things like, “My life started when I met her.” You’re welcome for all that powerful thought karma, Keith. I’ll expect my front-row tickets and backstage passes to your tour any day now. After all, it’s the least you can do after my thoughts and musings STARTED YOUR LIFE.

Yep. Anyway.

If I try to involve myself in the matchmaking, that’s a different story. We all know how that goes and it involves a lot of fast internal monologue and gelato and disaster. Just thinking about it to myself and writing it down on the predictions spreadsheet – that’s another matter completely, and it WORKS. Talking to one or bolth of the parties involved is not cool, but using extremely powerful telepathic messaging is okay. Obviously it works across oceans and all the way to Australia. That is telepathy on some of that Barry Bonds ish. 

So now, I don’t meddle. I have to restrain my forces. You know, actually, I’m like Emma. You know when Mr. Knightly says:

Your time has been properly and delicately spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring about this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady’s mind! But if, which I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call it, means only your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle day, ‘I think it would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to marry her,’ and saying it again to yourself every now and then afterwards,—why do you talk of success? where is your merit?”


Except, just as Emma insisted, it’s totally more mental force than just “making a lucky guess” as that silly Mr. Knightley wants to insinuate (Will, hopefully you are not thinking anything along those lines). Ergo, I am exactly like Emma. Ta-da! Dream come true – favorite Austen heroine = practically my life. Now as I already have my own personal Mr. Knightley to try to squelch my enthusiasm, I just need someone to leave me In possession of a generous fortune to make my Woodhouseian aspirations complete. Any day, peeps.

Next on the list? I really just need to put a lot of concentrated thought into Halla and Ed Sheeran. Actually, @)#(%), I may have already mentioned that to her a couple of …. Hundred times… so I may have potentially ruined that for myself. Darn. Time to start NOT talking to Noelle about Prince George. If she can’t fully understand me yet, it totally doesn’t count, right?

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