Boots and I re-met sixteen years ago. I say re-met because I knew him in high school.

It was the early 90’s, he was good mates with my high school sweetheart and we were all busting moves to Michael Jackson at bad taste parties.

Plenty of my friends were disco-pashing his friends – but I never disco-pashed Boots.

Back then, Boots was a big hunk of spunk and I was, well, let’s just say… mousey. I am little, with mousey brown hair, mousey brown eyes and freckles for days.

Your average girl next door.

My nickname was even - you guessed it - Mouse.

About ten years later I was standing in my mum’s kitchen. By this stage of my life, I had been divorced for about two years. I was the only divorced human being I knew - a little pity party of one - and as far as I knew, I was the only loser who couldn’t keep their marriage intact (Note from Future Lisa: Be gentle on yourself Past Lisa, you have just been through hell).

Mum said to me over a sink full of soapy dishes, “Remember your old mate Boots, I ran into him down the street. He has separated from his wife. I think he’s having a pretty tough time.”

My first reaction was, “Awesome! I am not the only loser going round.”

Not my finest moment.

My second, much stronger emotion was… sadness.

Everything I knew about Steve was that he was a good, caring person. I knew, first-hand, the pain he was going through, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Divorce is a lonely, shameful, dark place. I wanted to reach out to him and say, “I’m here. I know you. I know how much this sucks.”

But I didn’t know how.

I thought it would be a bit stalkery-weirdo to call him up out of the blue after all these years and say, “Want a shoulder to cry on?”

So I didn’t call.

Many months later my high school sweetheart rang and invited me to a party in the big smoke. He was, and still is, one of my best friends. He was also still mates with Boots.

When it came to blokes and romance, this stage of my life was… how should we say it… uneventful.

When I left my husband I left with the view it was me and the kids against the world, and to be completely honest, I didn’t believe someone would want a 30-something-year-old mousey girl next door and her two little cherubs.

I was also feeling very content.

I had scraped together a deposit and purchased a little white weatherboard farmhouse (my first foray into turning an uncomfortable, inefficient, west-facing s**t shack into a sustainable, liveable home on the smell of an oily rag!) and purchased a little white car.

Both were less than desirable, but they were mine.

I was in charge of my own happiness and that was the way I liked it.

But as it turns out, Boots was invited to the same party.

That night, I was standing at the bar holding my pink coat and a near-empty glass of wine when he walked in. He flashed me his trademark grin and said…

“Another wine? And I’ll take that for you…”

Boots carried my pink coat all night until 5 am when the bar shut and he stood with me in the fog and waited until I got safely in a taxi. We sat – propped on two bar stools sinking white rum – and talked all night long.

He must have needed to talk.

I must have needed to talk.

Or maybe it was the Bacardi?

It doesn’t really matter, because we have been talking ever since (ok ok – I do more of the talking, but you get what I mean).

The courtship with Boots was fast.

It was fast because there was no bulls**t.

When you are divorced and have small children, no one has time for bulls**t. We both felt strongly that if at any point we thought this might not be a forever gig, we would bail.

Boots is the yin to my yang.

He is calm and predictable. I am like a box of chocolates – you never know what you’re gonna get (I like to call it embracing the highs and lows of life).

Boots stops and talks to strangers at the supermarket checkout. I feel annoyed when there aren’t enough checkouts open.

Yin and yang.

But it doesn’t matter, because it works.

Somehow, out of all the chaos and heartache that was my divorce, I found the reason I had to go through it. I never predicted this ending for me, I couldn’t have, because I didn’t know something like this existed.

Boots and I were married on October 30, 2010 under a big white marquee in our paddock. It poured rain all day, to the point the dance floor became a mud slip and slide - but it didn’t stop us from dancing until the sun came up.

Nothing could dampen my spirits, because this was the day we officially became a blended family. It was the day the mousey girl next door landed the kind, caring hunk of spunk.

I wish I could go back and tell my high school self this is how it would all work out.

But I can’t… so I will tell you instead.

If you are in the middle of any kind of s**t storm right now, take it from me, most things happen for a reason. If you stay positive and open, good things come.
(Sorry for the cliché, but it’s a good one).

And guess who the best man at our wedding was?

My high school sweetheart.

Blend it your way,

Lisa (Mouse!)