The One Who Got Away

I assume we’re not talking about fish here. So where do I begin – there have been so many. (Insert little sarcastic eye rolling face here)

That phrase conjures up some nasty images. Devious women furtively scheming to bag one of those unsuspecting men who are wandering around loose out there and incarcerate him for life. Well, maybe that’s a little too forceful. Keep him in protective custody? Never letting him GET AWAY, at any rate.

When my sister brought home her future husband our mother told her she should try really hard not to let this one get away. We thought that was hilarious. I’d like to point out that she never gave ME that advice about W. Who knows what her reasons were. I don’t want to think too hard about it because one of us is sure to have our feelings hurt if we ever get it figured out. Whatever. He’s now been around for close to forever, so if he gets away at this point I suppose I can safely say I did my best.

Okay. The ones that got away, in chronological order:

Harvey in grade three. Because it’s hard for nine-year olds to make any kind of long-term committment.

John in highschool. Because he was so intense it terrified me and I ran away screaming. Well not literally, but that’s close enough to the truth.

Chris one summer. Because summer flings aren’t meant to last past labour day weekend.

Cecil in college. Because we were both very drunk the night we met and unable to recognize each other the next day.

Bruce. Because he was just too besotted and I wasn’t really into having my own personal slave.

Larry. Because he wasn’t besotted at all, except maybe with himself and his devastatingly handsome mirror image.

Want to know the advice my mother DID give to me? No matter, I’m telling you anyway. She said “Good marriages don’t just happen, you have to work at them.” So either she knew W. needed a lot of work, or she knew how incredibly lazy I can be putting any kind of effort into anything, including my own life.

I still let things get away from me. Brilliant ideas that never make it on to paper, people who might have been excellent friends but one of us moved away and we lost touch, possessions that know how to go missing with no help from me I swear; whole days with nothing much accomplished.

And what does that picture of Johnny Depp have to do with all of this you might ask? Well, nothing really. I just like looking at him.

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