(Diary of a Bachelor)
Rings come just as easily as they go on, I thought as I inventoried the list of things that my wedding planner had given Chrissy and I earlier on in the day. My track record with women is as long as the litany of saints.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but if it ain’t me it’s her who bolts first.
I was twenty-three when my parents divorced. A year later, my childhood sweetheart and fiancée, Sally, died. It was one hell of a blow, to lose the one you love so young to the cruel hand of death. I have never overcome the shock. I gonna live in denial. It’s like she ain’t there but she’s there at the same time.
Over the years I have had women in my life, of course after seven years since Sally’s burial, but none’s like my first love.
Occasionally, the relationship has blossomed, even seemed to promise no end, but when they started using four-letter words – ‘baby’, ‘ring’, ‘home’ – on me I bolted and took to the wild.
I would imagine them trying to trace me, even to the point of hiring PIs for those who were rich dad’s girl, to no avail.
The grapevine has it that I am the senior most bachelor around, with no cares in the world. Funny, ain’t it, how some women who’ve come close to me these days think they are Mrs. Right for me.
Well, what do I say?
I turned fifty yesterday, and I proposed to Chrissy – my thirty-something Queen of my broken heart. I didn’t expect it, it was just a joke so that I’d tell mom she said no, but guess she said yes!
Well, mama insisted. She said that nothing would break me, or lead me astray.
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