Amy always insisted that she met Scott in a “normal, respectable way,” which was technically true if you consider arguing with a stranger in the Bunnings car park at 7:42 on a Saturday morning to be normal. They were both reaching for the last remaining flat trolley—the one with only a slight wobble—when Amy accused Scott of stealing it with “the confidence of a man who’s never assembled furniture alone.” Scott replied that he had assembled furniture alone, once, and it had only collapsed twice. This mutual lack of credibility formed the foundation of their relationship.

Their first real conversation happened in Aisle 12, where Scott was attempting to locate a specific bolt he did not know the name of, the size of, or the purpose for. Amy, armed with a phone screenshot and an alarming level of certainty, declared, “That’s not a bolt, that’s a washer,” despite being equally wrong. They bonded over this shared misunderstanding and decided the only sensible next step was to grab a coffee, mostly to calm down and partly because neither of them could remember why they’d come to Bunnings in the first place.

Their first date was chaotic, as all great love stories are. Scott suggested fish and chips by the beach, but they were immediately attacked by seagulls with military precision. Amy lost a chip, Scott lost his dignity, and a very bold pelican made prolonged eye contact with them while swallowing something whole. They laughed so hard that they forgot to be embarrassed, which turned out to be an early indicator that this might be something serious.

As their relationship grew, so did their collection of mildly disastrous shared experiences. There was the camping trip where Scott insisted he could “eyeball” tent instructions, resulting in a structure best described as “conceptual.” There was the dinner party where Amy confidently said, “I’ll just wing it,” and produced a meal that required three separate sauces to remain socially acceptable. Somehow, instead of running away, they kept choosing each other, again and again, like two people who genuinely enjoyed chaos but preferred to face it as a team.

The moment Scott realised he was in love came when Amy, without hesitation, defended him during an argument about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. She didn’t even like pineapple on pizza—she just believed in him. Amy, meanwhile, knew she loved Scott when he spent an entire afternoon helping her look for something she was already holding. Neither of them mentioned it at the time, but both quietly thought, Yep. This is it.

Scott’s proposal was meticulously planned… in theory. In reality, nerves caused him to forget half his speech, drop the ring, and propose while kneeling in a slightly damp patch of grass. Amy thought he was tying his shoe at first. When he finally managed to say, “Will you marry me?” it came out sounding like a question, a statement, and a mild apology all at once. Amy said yes immediately, then laughed, then cried, then made him promise never to tell anyone how long it took him to stand back up.

And so, through misplaced confidence, questionable decision-making, and an unwavering commitment to laughing at themselves, Amy and Scott became engaged. Their story isn’t about fate or destiny—it’s about timing, teamwork, and finding the one person who will argue with you in a hardware store and still want to have coffee afterward. Which, honestly, is the truest love story there is.

Extra points if you've made it this far 😉