It’s officially FEBRUARY.  The month of loooovvveeee.  And that’s exactly why today my thoughts turn to polarity; that or because my super-romantic husband is a chemical engineer.  One or the other.
So, what is polarity and why is it romantic? Now, most of you had to take chemistry at some point in high school or college.  You know this, people — it’s when atoms bond together because of their electrostatic attraction.   Come on, y’all — Covalent bonding?  Ionic bonding?  The whole “oppositely charged ions” thing in chemical compounds?
Polarity = electrostatic attraction.  Just let those words slip over your lips a few times.  Electrostatic attraction.  Electrostatic attraction.  E-lectro-static-a-ttraction.  Sexy words.   Romantic words.
Basically, two atoms that aren’t even aware of each others’ existence cross paths in orbit.  Zing.  They pull a little closer together.  They don’t even need an introduction or a first date.  They orbit closer.  Zing, zing.  Each time, uncontrollably, irresistibly, they come closer.  Finally, irrevocably, they bond.  They literally share electrons; they become one.  These two atoms might not even LIKE each other.  Their bonding might really mess their shiz up in real life.  Other atoms might not understand their attraction.  But they have no choice.  It is fate.
Sometimes, if the atoms are lucky, they DO like each other.  If they are really blessed, they might even love and adore each other and live happily ever after.   And, if so, they better appreciate it, because they could have ended up with an ionic bond to some alcoholic jackass with a compulsive gambling problem who lives with his mother, has a tendency to use his fists, and refuses to shave his back hair.  How bad would that suck?
But just imagine, when the universe gets it right…magic can happen…
Maybe there is a 15-year old male atom out there, growing up in the U.S. Virgin Islands, that sees a blond-haired, blue-eyed, tightly-wound female atom (who would do an Ironman and run marathons with him) in his dreams.  Who moves from the islands to New Mexico, where that girl’s family has bought a home three hours away.  Who walks the same sidelines at Texas Tech University’s football stadium one year later, one month apart.  Who moves to Dallas, where he and the girl work in buildings next to each other.  Who attends a New Year’s Eve celebration in 2000, sitting one table away from her.  Closer, closer.
Maybe there’s a 15-year old female atom out there, 2,000 miles away, that sees a dark-eyed, wild haired, lanky male atom (who would talk her into an Ironman and run marathons with her) in her dreams.  Who moves to the islands from Texas, driven by an inner force she can’t rationalize.  Who meets an overly intense male co-worker that she doesn’t really like at first.  Who sits three feet across a table from him and feels a magnetic pull that terrifies her.  That looks into his eyes and in a flash recognizes the boy from her dreams and sees the same recognition cross his face before he shuts it down.  Closer, closer.
A million orbits have passed since their dreams.  Life went on.  Fission resulted in the production of small atoms, five special, small atoms.  But still, this moment came, inevitably.
Maybe the dreamers are the same two that hold hands and bind Forever in a wind-swept gazebo overlooking Cruz Bay five years and a thousand storms after their eyes first meet.  That whisper about polarity nose to nose while three teenagers are up later than they are supposed to be, thinking the two don’t know they’ve all sneaked back onto Facebook after bedtime.
See what I mean?  Chemistry = romance.
And, so, because it is nearly Valentine’s Day, I write today to celebrate my great fortune that polarity came our way, that the electrostatic attraction between Eric and me resulted in this bond, this amazing partnership.  And to thank Eric for sharing his geeky scientific view of our love, and having the patience to explain the concept to me over and over until I kinda sorta almost understood it.

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