I have become a member of the singles club. Again! It’s the proverbial revolving door of my life. Just when I’m all smitten, thinking I could possibly fall in love with this guy, I look at him and realize he is all wrong. It’s like he suddenly grew a third eye and sprouted broccoli out of his head when I wasn’t looking. Is my prince really out there because you know, I have kissed a buttload of toads in my 52 years. Internet dating, hook ups, blind dates, singles dances, etc. I have dated men from 10 to 3,700 miles away.
I am a non-truster so I really spend a lot of online time (sometimes months) with a man to get comfortable enough to meet him in person. Oh the stories I could tell. Let’s just say I had a slight scare very early in my search for Mr. Perfect. I don’t want to find myself stuck in a silver, satin lined box getting dropped into the ground, my family grieving their loss, while my profile photo is on the front page of CNN as his latest victim. I spoke to this one guy enough to trust him and set a luncheon date. In a public placed. People, his profile photo lied to me. I felt so sorry for him and his lack of teeth that I actually paid for his meal. That is one big no-no in my dating book. I am old school here. First off, I am very proud of my oral hygiene and 6 month dental commitments and would expect the same in return. Also, if you want the pleasure of my company, then fork over the cash for my quarter pounder! But hey, it was the least I could do after watching him gum his food for 30 minutes. How do you women do it? How do you meet that special someone that sweeps you off your feet and makes you the happiest woman in the world?
I was married for 13 years. If I remember correctly a few of them were happy ones. I have two wonderful now grown sons to prove it. What I feared the most he accomplished. He turned into his father. I got a husband who chose the mighty bottle over his family. As much as I wanted him to get help for his disease, he declared I needed help. He never shared what my problem was but I figured it out. A strong believer in self help, I divorced him. That was over 15 years ago. Unfortunately all the good things I was trying to instill in our sons, like manners, honesty and bedtimes, my ex erased from their brains through visitation.
Most recently, as in last Friday, a three year live-in relationship ended. Yes, broccoli syndrome. I thought he was my future. I was wrong. I suppose him sleeping on the couch for the last year and the lack of nookie ended of the relationship for me. Not to mention the third eye was not all that attractive on him. It took me a very long time to ask him to leave. I’ve never been totally alone at Poverty Corner.
I keep hearing things in the night. My sissy nonguard dog isn’t going to save me. She hides behind me in the face of danger. I have guns. I don’t want to shoot intruders. They may be suffering in this bad economy enough to need my laptop more than me. But then how could I update my new blog? They can have my lawn mower. I can’t get it started anyway. Then I could join the no-lawn-maintenance club like my neighbor across the street. I kid you not, the woman has not touched her lawn in 2 years. I am thinking that may decrease my property value. She had a huge barn fire last spring. Someone finally came with large equipment and took all the metal, I assume for resale. If they had came sooner they could have had mine. Which was her debris that blew across the road into my perfectly manicured lawn. The barn is still there. All burned up. Not pretty, especially in her hay field of a yard.
My place is not Better Homes and Gardens beautiful but its all mine. I am not in financial poverty. I refer to my current situation as relationship poverty. I am just a lonely, menopausal woman trying to make it all happen in my little 3.5 acre corner of God’s green earth. Searching for my hero. Or at least a man that sleeps on the right side of the bed which happens to be closest to the door. The boogie man would get him first, giving me time to leap out my second story window. On my cement patio. Ouch!