The big [not so] surprise

In keeping with my current moratorium on politics, and as the public proclamation to a semi-surprise, I have something of a personal nature to announce.

My ex-wife and I have reconciled for the third time. She still wears her wedding ring; I never took mine off. She has moved back into the Possum Den, and says with a degree of humility that she is finished with what I call “serial marriage”. (We have had long talks about this; you’ll have to trust me on that, because details are not forthcoming.)

All my life, I have had a few friends who tell me I’m a fool. (“You’re a fool to buy a three-story house while you’re stuck in a wheelchair;” “You’re a fool to drive a sports car that’ll do 140 mph when you don’t even have a driver’s license…”)

Correction. The latter is scofflaw stuff, because I believe there is too much government, and hiking the stairs in the Possum Den is good exercise.

I’m a fool for love, and this tiny woman in the picture is my soul mate. We have a history that goes back decades. The photo isn’t altered; when I stand, I’m still 6’3”, and she is 4’11”. It hasn’t always been sweetness and light, but she beats me up when I get out of line, and I grin and bear it.

Female subscribers to UPI, and other respondents, have been referred to by herself as my “online harem.” Sorry, ladies, I never thought of you that way. There is no problem with jealousy. When we were coming back from the grocery store the other day, I was asked, “Were those men staring at me because I look so bad [with my unbrushed hair and lack of war paint]?”

I answered with a phrase that unsettles my significant other, but is true: “No, darlin’, you’re just easy on the eyes.” As long as they look, but don’t touch, I am flattered ‘cause “she’s with me.”

I had my fun when I was a rock ‘n roll punk. She had a string of losers. I can’t build a resentment when I hear anecdotes about them. I have “issues” with self-esteem, but hearing about able-bodied guys who are such shitheels is quite therapeutic; they all lost out, and I get the damsel in distress. She had a sheltered childhood while I was doing cocaine, playing rock ‘n roll, and shooting people for a living. She needed the experience of life’s hard lessons.

Having stumbled on most of life’s obstacles, we find ourselves back together. Not for the first or second, but the third time. We won’t be going back into a church again for a third renewal of the wedding vows; we both wear our rings, and hearken back to the first vow: “What God hath joined, let no man put asunder.”

Works for me. We signed some papers for secular benefit back in the downside day, but that did nothing to sever my tie with this woman.

Sorry, my online harem. I was never a good prospect in the first place. Happiness for everybody!