I fell in love with the song before I fell in love with her. In fact, I may have been looking for someone just to have someone to share the song with. Note to self: never do that again.

Anyway, she was beautiful. And funny, and smart, and everything I ever wanted in a woman. She was stuff I didn’t know I wanted in a woman. I fell in love and I fell hard. I played her the song. I made a CD with it as the first song. I made it her ring tone on my phone. Eventually she came around and recognized it as not only the best song ever, but the song that would forever link us. We named the kids Black Angus and Dagmar. There was no stopping us. We’d be rocking ’til the sun went down.

Then, nearly a year later, my phone started singing our tune, waking me up. It was her. She was calling to dump me. Over the phone. After a year. What?

We did the “return each other’s stuff” ceremony. I was devastated, but managed to give her the last mix CD I was ever going to make. The last track? “I Believe In A Thing Called Love.” Two days later it came around on my iPod. Our song. I looked up into the sky to acknowledge God’s cruelty as I fumbled for the “Next” button. But I couldn’t find it before the chorus started.

“I believe in a thing called love / Just listen to the rhythm of my heart / There’s a chance we can make it now / We’ll be rocking ’til the sun goes down / I believe in a thing called love / Whooo-ooooo. Huh!”

I let it play.