Breaking Up

One of the true joys of aging are the stockpile of memories we accumulate, available to us whenever we so desire (if we can just remember them). I was thinking of the times in my life when there was a break-up. For the sake of definition, a break-up by someone who cut me loose.

The reason why I had to qualify, is that, by my own admission, I did not treat women with the respect they deserved. But riddle me this: why did eight of my ex-girlfriends show up to my wedding?

At the risk of sounding modest (there I go again, feigning false modesty—blush), There is probably only two women that would not welcome a call from me for any time’s sake. All the others would gladly chat and at least be cordial if not downright friendly.

I love women of all forms, races, ages, and I’m not talking any crazy freaky shit. I think it is because the women in my life have all babied and spoiled me. In every country I have lived in, same thing; my attraction seems multicultural if not universal.

Not that I’m complaining.

But it does, however, help to explain my attraction to and from females on planet Earth.

Starting in elementary school at age five, Patricia dumped me for a first grader. Second grade through fourth were good years. In fifth grade I played sports and was semi-successful enough to land a sixth-grade girlfriend. Stacy dumped me for no one.

Talk about making you feel like shit. She would rather be with no one than me.

And all this time I am thinking I am a real catch.

I didn’t get dumped again (I swore for the last time) until I was nineteen by my very first American high school girlfriend. I think she outgrew me, and it was the first time I ever felt like this. How on Earth could any girl actually leave me? I had lots of buddies who had women leave them, but hey, this is me.

I almost want to say that Las Vegas in the eighties both thrilled and almost killed me.

I was seduced; but I’m easy.

Unfortunately I did see a lot of once-inseparable married couples succumb to the Devil in that city. IF they could find a way out and back to wherever they originally came from, their lives were changed forever.

And not for the good.

I am not going into detail, let’s just say maybe five more girls gave me the old heave-ho or left the premises on their own.

I never could figure out what their problems were.

The last girl was a sweetheart who I lived with for two years during a very tumultuous time in my life—–my waking hours. She used to shower me with trips, lavish gifts, first-class flights, the works.

I never once asked her for a thing.

One day I came back from a birthday trip she sent me on to Catalina Island and she was sitting on the couch in the front room. She was holding what looked like a bank statement and she was shaking her head.

“I absolutely worship you and I will never find another who makes me feel like you do. But you’ve got to go.”

I stood there dazed.

Dumbfounded.

“When you moved in with me I had one-hundred and eleven thousand dollars in the bank and now I am overdrawn.”

And who’s fault is that? I didn’t say that, I just thought it as I gathered my things and left.

She was a great girl and I hope she has had a wonderful life.

Check out this jam, courtesy of Pineapple Kush.

Jam #1

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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