The one about the mended heart.

The one about the mended heart.

A few years ago, during a tumultuous love affair with a boy who already had a girlfriend, I became obsessed with this Erato cover of Robyn’s banger ‘Call Your Girlfriend’. It's about a girl encouraging her lover to come clean to his current girlfriend about having fallen in love with somebody new. The appeal of the song to 2014 me is obvious, but it also happens to be a beautiful acapella rendition accompanied only by the singers playing empty butter packets.

That relationship, rightly, ended abruptly and with a lot of tears. The relationships immediately before and after that one ended the same way. I was in a vicious cycle of heartbreak and pain and wine from a box. Until I disastrously dated the guy at my nearest Liqourland and I had to briefly stop drinking while I found a new bottleo. Luckily I live in Australia so bottleos are like a dime a dozen.

Then I met my husband. I wondered if, like the song suggested, my heart would finally be mended by learning to love him. I never believed that it would because I don't believe romantic love is the solution to all a girl’s problems. Sure, he makes me happier than I've ever been, he supports and cares and encourages. But he can't be solely responsible for mending a heart broken by years of mistreatment, and worst of all, neglect.

But then I met Monty. And one afternoon, while trying to calm her overtired-I-need-sleep-but-can’t-stop-crying-long-enough-to-fall-asleep cries I decided to pop Erato’s cover on my Spotify shuffle. Monty is usually a fan of classic ‘90s hip hop, but I thought a change of pace might work since The Notorious BIG wasn't cutting it that day. And as I sang along to this song that I hadn't been able to bring myself to listen to since 2014, I was suddenly a blubbering mess on the floor of the nursery, clutching Barnaby Joyce-red faced Monty for dear life.

You see, dear reader, I realised that Monty was what had mended my heart. She had given me something I never even knew I missed. It was so different when we kissed - platonically you weirdos. And she taught me how good love can be when it's at its best. When there's no agenda, no motives, no baggage.

We do our best to love our partners but sometimes we stumble and fall. We let past hurts and wounds reopen and bleed all over the people who come next. We blame and curse and fling our baggage around with gay abandon. But a baby just loves you without any of that crap. And loving Monty, and being loved by her in return, is the most pure, consuming love I've ever experienced.

To all those boys and girls who've broken my heart over the years. I finally forgive you. I finally understand. And I finally found the love that mended me. Her name is Monty Emma. And now, when we dance together and sing both versions of ‘Call Your Girlfriend’ - because you can't go past Robyn - I don't think of you. I only think of her.


The one about how all this started.

The one about how all this started.

The one about being tired.

The one about being tired.