I was 27 once, and I was pretty much fed up with women in general.
I’d had my share of romantic entanglements. They ended, all of 'em. Mostly badly; for some reason, when one of us wanted out, the other didn’t, and on at least one occasion, the woman in question decided that being a complete screaming shrew would somehow cause the relationship to recongeal from its disintegrating state.
I’d pretty much come to the conclusion that I was gonna live and die alone. I had begun to move from the twentysomething stage where I dated other single twentysomethings… to the stage where I dated single moms… and the magic was mighty fraggin’ elusive.
In particular, I was QUITE tired of women who took a liking to me, hung on my every word, really fed my ego… and then, once a monogamous relationship was established, began working to change me. Sometimes it was a matter of “I can’t stand your bad habits,” which is fair enough, I guess…
…but more than once, it was “I need a man to fit into the husband-shaped hole in my life, and you aren’t quite fitting properly. Could you hold still while I trim off your loose and wiggly bits?”
Women. Evil, pernicious creatures. And not a one of’m liked me for who and what I was, so much as they wanted me for what I represented, what I had, what I could get, or what I could be, with time and a little judicious (and continuous) pressure.
“Hell with all of you,” I said. And I gave up dating.
A friend of mine, married woman, meanwhile, was trying to set me up with a friend of hers. I knew better. She’d set me up with a coupla friends of hers in the past, and the main thing I’d discovered was that Bubbles’ friends tended to fluctuate between neurotic and psychotic. I’d NEVER forget the New Year’s Eve party I attended with that one girl, who it turns out wasn’t wearing any underwear. Man, talk about a group of people I’d never be able to face again…
…so I made excuses. I begged off. I vetoed plans. No way was I ever going out with one of Bubbles’ friends again, especially not on a blind date.
Until the bitch tricked me into accepting a call from the woman in question.
She didn’t SOUND crazy. We finally agreed to meet, wound up going out to a comedy club, having a few drinks… and stayed up all night, talking.
That’s all, just talking. She was really something else. Never met another woman like her.
We’ve been married ten years now, and still doing great.
But it took 27 years to find her.
And, I might add, there are about five million women who decry and declaim and bemoan the fact that all the nice guys, the sweet guys, the guys with jobs and a li’l self-respect are TAKEN.
Well, we didn’t start OUT that way, durnit…
