Thursday, February 11, 2010

A wedding, a proposal, no funerals

posted Tue, 26 Jul 2005

Had I married my college boyfriend, as planned, today would have been our 19th wedding anniversary.

We had the church. I had the dress. But I changed my mind. He later married one of my sophomore year roommates. The statute of limitations on dating your friends’ ex-boyfriends (or ex-fianc├ęs, as the case might be) had long since run out when they started going out. I even went to their reception.

I should start a consulting business for men who have ditched girlfriends and then later try to get them back. At some point, you have to say something like, “I was an idiot. Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t deserve a second chance, but I am begging you to take me back. My life is meaningless without you. I love you and I can’t live without you.” Amsterdam Man should have given those words a try. They wouldn’t have worked, but I wouldn’t have laughed and felt like he was trying to rent my uterus.

A few years ago, a boyfriend who had broken up with me changed his mind after almost a year. He showed up in M’town and wanted to take me to lunch. This after telling me in May that I had to tell him right away if I would see him in July because there was only one cheap seat left on the plane (he lives in Amsterdam) and he wasn’t going to come early on his business trip if I wouldn’t see him. The business trip he wasn’t even paying for, incidentally.

I had no idea what he had in mind, but agreed to meet him just because I was curious.

We talked. He told me that he had been seeing a therapist and had learned a lot about himself (like you are a miser? I thought to myself) and that he had made some decisions about his life and so on.

“I’ve decided I need an intimate emotional relationship in my life. I’ve also decided I need an heir.”

Then he went on to tell me that he was getting married. He was so happy and excited that I got happy for him.

“That’s wonderful!” I said. “Tell me about her!”

“You know her!” he told me.

“I do?” I answered, puzzled.

“Yes!” he said.

Whom did I know in Amsterdam, I wondered. Who, who, who?

I looked at him. “Who?”

“Well, it’s you!” he said, beaming.


“Yes!” he said.

I shook my head and laughed. “No, no, no, no, no!”

He sat back and stiffened.

“I’ll put half my money in your name.” (A big deal for him – I told you he was a miser.) “We can live wherever you want. You can work or not work, but if you want to live in London, I might have to keep working.”

I kept shaking my head.

“Why would any woman turn this down?” he asked in disbelief. And he really couldn’t understand why.

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