Lost fish
I think sometimes, about the ones that got away. The list of women to whom I would open my door at any time and let back into my life is ridiculously small.
In fact, it can be counted on one hand. With opposition available(see end of post for an important clarification).
I used to be a real bastard, and I’m not really shy about pointing it out. But with ladies, I have always been courteous, polite, and loving.
You may note that I am single, and have been for more years than I like to count. “Nice” guys finish far back in the pack, unless they get extremely lucky.
Mine’s not holding out so far.
Of this quartet, it is interesting to note that 2 are married (that I know of), and I haven’t seen any of them in at least 4 years. 3 of them are past the 10 year mark, and the last is nearly 15 years behind me.
That sucks.
Some of my longstanding friends from college are doing math right now, and yes, it is her.
I know I’m a dumbass, but sometimes, late at night, I think about the ones that got away.
The names I have given them are (in order) The Siren, the Bartender, the Crazy Jello Lady, and Danger Girl. All of them commanded my immediate and total attention from the very first words we exchanged, and have a place in my heart, home, and hearth forever.
Maybe if I get melancholy enough, I’ll write their stories. They are quite long, and would take up a lot more space than this format would allow. If I was to chronicle them, it would most likely be in the book my freind David wants me to write, but that’s a project which may never see the light of day.
My life really isn’t that interesting to people who are not me.
These are women, and not girls. I could easily expand that list double its current size if I counted missed opportunities and strange relationships from High School. (Once of which is moving quite close to me, if she’s not done so already.) But I can’t really count any of those, since I sure as hell didn’t know what to do with them then. And memories of fruit not tasted are horribly sweet, masking the truth that life would have given.
Alas, Chivalry.
If I ever get that time machine, there will be a whole lot of beatings administered. Line forms here.
*My friend(s) G___ do not count. That’s a whole ‘nother level of “don’t go there.”