Friday, August 17, 2012
When I was eighteen I started dating a thirty year old who had alimoney payments, custody of his two little girls and a house. I know, I know! I was 18, there was NO WAY I should have been dating a man so much older than me. For one I was still living with my parents, and just out of high school and thinking about college. Not to mention the fact that he had, not one, but TWO daughters. Another reason being, I was just starting out in the dating world seriously and I hadn't even really gotten my feet wet yet. I mean sure I'd been with a couple of other guys but they weren't really really real relationships. They were high school lets-walk-around-and-hold-hands-then-makeout-infront-of-your-locker-ships. Anyways, I will call him "Paul" for now.
So Paul and I dated for a little while...about six months. It was going very well. Sure we had some arguments and we break up and make up then break up again and made up again. But what relationship doesn't have those moments when you want to murder/death/kill each other? One day I tried calling him and the phone operator gave me one of those "the number you've reached is not in service. Please check the number and try your call again. This is a recording."
I arched a brow, looked at my phone and hung up. It couldn't have been the wrong number. I mean, I didn't dail the stupid thing. I simply went into my phone, scrolled down to the number and press "send" --you know, that button with the green phone on it? I tried a few more times, then sent an email to him. I only had to wait a second before the email popped up into my inbox with one of those horrid mailer Daemon thingies.
That was weird. I waited a couple of hours then called again. Still nothing, I still had the wrong number. The next day after I left work, I stopped by the house to see it was empty and a forsale sign was set up at the front of the house. I was SO mad! This punk ass had left, moved away and not said a word and me, being young and naive had not suspected a thing. I never cried over a guy, ever and he wasn't going to make me start. So I took a breath and walked away, thinking the man was an ass, a coward and a punk and there was nothing tears or anger would do about it. I felt stronger and life went on.
Three years later I was in a relationship with a lovely greek man, only a year older than me and I was home watching one of those wedding shows on TLC. I was bored, it was the middle of the day on my day off from work and I know I should have been writing but I wasbored. Anyways I am watching this program and a familiar face popped up when the girls start gushing about their fiancees. I stood there, before the television and all I could say was "that son of a bitch!!!" I fell into the sofa and watched. There on the screen was my missing boyfriend of yester-year. His name flashed at the bottom of the screen while he gushed about just how happy he was and all I wanted to do was smack him over the head with a Louiseville Slugger and run.
Colour me shocked. He left, got engaged, and was getting married and he didn't have enough spine, or balls to say it to me. I mean damn! But after it was over, I had a sense of relief. Maybe it was because now I know he was actually safe and not dead in a ditch somewhere. I was angry for a moment then thought...why be angry? That was three years ago. Let it go. Live and let live. The scary part was I didn't even think how much of a bitch Karma could be. I guess that was the day I realized that "wars come and go, but my soldiers stay eternal"...*shakes head* sorry, was watching xXx with Ice Cube again. But seriously, I grew from that experience and though it was maddening when it happened. I can look back and see how much I grew from it.
That's all I have for you today! Please enjoy the rest of the celebrations and all the goodies that are lying around for you to win. Also, please come back again to visit me here at The Peeping Hole!