Haven't thought about this anniversary in years but today, a full day at the office too, I did and a few times. Forty-four years ago--My GOD.--I met my first girlfriend, my first love and my first wife, the Unfortunate First Ex-Mrs Harris. We always marked this day moreso than our wedding day.
We all have times in our lives when we are at our best appearance. The summer of '74 was mine. I got a haircut (and to this day the best haircut I have ever had) for the first time in fucking nine months (serious), got contact lenses which replaced the queerest looking avaitor polarized glasses, was wearing a suit daily for the first time (legal intern), and was deeply sun-tanned which set off blue eyes. Like I said, the stars all aligned although I didn't have any idea.
Well, I'll tell ya...My future ex said a short time later that when she first saw me sitting outside the courthouse snack shop she literally was knocked off-stride. (I thought she had just slipped on her heels and side-stepped.) First and last time that ever happened, too, lol.*
Happy anniversary, darling!
*No. It happened to her again, poor thing. She is the only two-time victim. She kept in touch with me, would call me every few years, and on this latter occasion, maybe 25 years later, she called to say that she was bringing her daughter to town for her freshman year in college. She asked if I might want to have a drink after work and also meet her daughter. Sure!
Unfortunately this was another one of those occasions, this one lasting a few years rather than one halcyon summer, when I had improved my appearance, this time by working out regularly. I was also tanned and of course in a suit (after work). I met her in the lobby of the hotel, she was wearing casual travel jeans, she introduced me to her lovely daughter and this time, as she said "You've grown into quite the man." I did notice a change in her carriage.
The next year she came down again. She advised me of this in the usual manner. As did her husband. His voicemail advised me to cease and desist from another meet with his now-, my ex-, wife. He was quite clear in this. I sought the counsel of the Second Unfortunate Ex-Mrs Harris in the crisis, which tickled her to an unbecoming degree, and I got on the hot line to the man's now-, my ex-, wife and indicated a willingness, from prudence, to forego a second meet. I was pretty clear in this. My ex, his now, would hear nothing of it and so I agreed to have another, perhaps my last, drink with her.
I walked briskly through the hotel parking lot and lobby in zig-zag pattern and met her in the bar. This time she had forgone casual travel jeans for a spaghetti-strap dress and sandals. I patted my chest to make sure I had not forgotten my bullet-proof vest. There were only a couple or three normal, friendly arm/leg pats on the part of his now- my-ex and typically the bar had mirrors which provided rear views of the premises if an occasion presented. There was at the terminus of our imbibing one di rigueur invitation to see her accomodations in the hotel which I graciously, gently, tactfully declined citing the press of a previously-scheduled engagement with my funeral director. That was the last I saw or heard from her.
We all have times in our lives when we are at our best appearance. The summer of '74 was mine. I got a haircut (and to this day the best haircut I have ever had) for the first time in fucking nine months (serious), got contact lenses which replaced the queerest looking avaitor polarized glasses, was wearing a suit daily for the first time (legal intern), and was deeply sun-tanned which set off blue eyes. Like I said, the stars all aligned although I didn't have any idea.
Well, I'll tell ya...My future ex said a short time later that when she first saw me sitting outside the courthouse snack shop she literally was knocked off-stride. (I thought she had just slipped on her heels and side-stepped.) First and last time that ever happened, too, lol.*
Happy anniversary, darling!
*No. It happened to her again, poor thing. She is the only two-time victim. She kept in touch with me, would call me every few years, and on this latter occasion, maybe 25 years later, she called to say that she was bringing her daughter to town for her freshman year in college. She asked if I might want to have a drink after work and also meet her daughter. Sure!
Unfortunately this was another one of those occasions, this one lasting a few years rather than one halcyon summer, when I had improved my appearance, this time by working out regularly. I was also tanned and of course in a suit (after work). I met her in the lobby of the hotel, she was wearing casual travel jeans, she introduced me to her lovely daughter and this time, as she said "You've grown into quite the man." I did notice a change in her carriage.
The next year she came down again. She advised me of this in the usual manner. As did her husband. His voicemail advised me to cease and desist from another meet with his now-, my ex-, wife. He was quite clear in this. I sought the counsel of the Second Unfortunate Ex-Mrs Harris in the crisis, which tickled her to an unbecoming degree, and I got on the hot line to the man's now-, my ex-, wife and indicated a willingness, from prudence, to forego a second meet. I was pretty clear in this. My ex, his now, would hear nothing of it and so I agreed to have another, perhaps my last, drink with her.
I walked briskly through the hotel parking lot and lobby in zig-zag pattern and met her in the bar. This time she had forgone casual travel jeans for a spaghetti-strap dress and sandals. I patted my chest to make sure I had not forgotten my bullet-proof vest. There were only a couple or three normal, friendly arm/leg pats on the part of his now- my-ex and typically the bar had mirrors which provided rear views of the premises if an occasion presented. There was at the terminus of our imbibing one di rigueur invitation to see her accomodations in the hotel which I graciously, gently, tactfully declined citing the press of a previously-scheduled engagement with my funeral director. That was the last I saw or heard from her.
