When love goes wrong, nothing goes right… This one thing I know…
Dorothy Shaw and Lorelei Lee were right. Love went wrong, and nothing’s been right. The sun don’t beam, the moon don’t shine, the tide don’t ebb and flow. Bearbot after bearbot. Okay it’s only been 8 months since Bob and I split up for good, but really, we’re talking about 5,760 hours. Have you ever had to babysit a one-year old? for 6 hours? It’s like that, every time you look at the clock, “Ooh, 9 more minutes have passed, only 351 more.” Tick tock tick tock. The blues all gather ’round you, and day is dark as night. A man ain’t fit to live with, and a woman’s a sorry sight.
Do gentlemen prefer graying dirty blondes with beards and goofy glasses?
Evidently one particular gentleman does, and has, despite being swept under the rug a few times, left out in the rain, his advances alternately embraced and shunned. Perhaps you’ve read Coco’s Yo-Yo Guide to Love? He’s lost 100 pounds for me, supported me through all of my breakups with his temporary and significantly less intelligent replacements, loves my son and my family, is adventurous and fun, witty, creative and brilliant in that kind of unstable way that just melts my butter, and is a passionate and considerate lover to boot.
What the hell have I been doing?
Love isn’t somewhere else, I can’t melt those frozen bearsicle hearts, the key to what I’ve been wanting and waiting for has been hanging on my keychain for 4 years already, the key to 5 G****view Way. I don’t know how not to be as corny as Kansas in August when it comes to love, Bob’s the postmodernist, I’m Anita Loos and Busby Berkeley’s love child, in love with love, a spinning kaleidoscopic cliche of a thousand kicking legs, and I’m finally ready to say, YES, let’s give it a go. So take this down in black and white. After all, even educated fleas do it. No entanglements, no others, no obstacles except each other, just you and me, Big and Little, Chris and Chris, let’s see what happens. Oh what is this sudden jolt, I feel like a frightened colt, hit by a thunderbolt…
sound of needle scratching across hokey soundtrack
Okay, there are serious issues on both sides, so I’m not all stardust and moonbeams. I’ve spent the past week thinking about what my boundaries are, or should be, behavior patterns of the past that will not be welcomed or tolerated, communication issues that we need to address, and proposed conflict resolution strategies. This sounds like I’m waging war and not love, n’est ce pas?
meanwhile, back to our regularly scheduled romance…