Last week I was 'romantically involved' with another musician.
Homecoming King, Class of '90.
It lasted 12 hours.
The entire romantic relationship.
After all my recent rapid fire disappointments one after another after another, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself spending the evening with someone who was so sensual, so into me. I knew he, recently divorced and with major financial problems, had his own issues. Big issues. But I was willing to overlook all that because he gave a really great massage and was a fine kisser. He treated me like royalty. He was a prince (and a pauper).
And then he disappeared. For a week.
Then he showed up, at my office, yesterday.
"I'm really sorry," he said, "but we can't be romantically involved."
I already knew something was up, because I stood in a used book store a few months ago and read "He's Just Not That Into You" cover to cover. I know if a guy starts kissing on me and tells me he wants to do more to me, and then goes into radio silence for the next week, that he's just not that into me. So I just stood there, eyebrows raised, waiting for the excuse.
"Don't take this the wrong way," he said.
Oh, I'm already taking whatever you've got to say next as an insult.
"There are certain aspects about you that remind me of my ex-wife."
Whaaaaaa? I wish I had a photo of my face at that moment. My eyebrows were still raised and now my mouth was open. Rude. Insensitive. Jerk. Frickin' Homecoming King!!! I should've known better after dating the captain of the football team, class of '80 (I'll save that story for another day).
But no. Wait. There's more. Actually, it gets better.
"And being with you, kind of got me thinking. And the thing is, well, I realized that I'm still in love with my ex-wife. So I called her, and we started talking, and . . . well, she's agreed to go to counseling with me and we're going to see if we can't work it out."
So let me get this straight.
We had one night together. One great, fantastic night. A night that was so great, and intimate, full of promise and goodness and hope for a wonderful future (or at least 6 months give or take a few weeks), that it reminded you of all that was good about being married. And it made you miss your wife. So instead of giving this new good untarnished relationship a fighting chance, you immediately called the woman you just spent good money extricating yourself from. The woman who cheated on you. The woman you said had an anger management problem.
Well, gosh, I didn't quite know what to say.
"Good luck with that," is what comes out of me. "Congratulations."
And then, before he leaves my office, as I still sat there, not sure exactly what else I could possibly say, but most definitely feeling sorry for myself, the Homecoming King says, "Would it be out of line if I gave you a hug?"
Uh, yeah. It most definitely would.
I hope it doesn't sound like I'm mad at him. I'm not. I'm still feeling sorry for myself, because darn it, I had gotten myself all excited about the prospect of having some intimacy in my life. I wish him the best, I really do. But I give him six weeks before he remembers why he got divorced in the first place, give or take a few weeks. I'm thinking about starting up an office pool.