hindsight

The problem is that I could have married Baron. Not that I should have, but that I could have. And I could have just gone on believing that being in love is being possessed and that all bad the times can be buoyed by the good.

My parents were right, it turns out. They didn’t always dislike him, but I should have listened to them those last three years or so.

I fell in love with him when I was 15, maybe 14. He told me he loved me the first time on a folded sheet of notebook paper; we’d never even kissed. We got older. We had plans. We knew what we’d name our babies.

I thought I’d marry him. I thought I knew him.

I was wrong.

These days we don’t even talk. Soon he’s going to marry one of our high school friends. Baron lived with her while we were still together.

I’ll probably never quite know for sure how wrong I was.

The problem is that I could be wrong. That I can be wrong. That I might be wrong.

~beatrix

(this is a bonus happy snippet:

“So what did you do while I was away.”
“Man things. I licked a stripper, but only one.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Yes.”
“Prettier than me?”
“No.”)

don't do anything i wouldn't do

-Have a safe trip. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
-Will do. And likewise. P.S. That leaves a fair amount of leeway, no?

Ted was on his way to a bachelor party with a bunch of boys from his fraternity, and I was off to a wedding. . . with Harper. . . in New Orleans. So by 1 a.m., when I texted him that he now had permission to get drunk and go to transvestite bingo, he probably knew he was right about the leeway.



It was fun to spend the weekend with Harper. The wedding was beautiful, and the reception was fun. After band stopped playing and we threw rose petals at the happy couple, we went to one of our favorite bars-- great for after parties and Monday nights. And, well, we realized that we are now the weird old people who show up there in party clothes.

But we met some boys, of course. I’m sure I could have gotten free drinks all night, but I couldn’t help mentioning my boyfriend. Over and over. I was sort of done drinking anyway.

And Harper’s conversation with one of the boys turned to bachelor party debauchery. Despite my protests, they assured me that all boys are terrible when given that type of opportunity, and Harper proceeded to tell a rather disgusting bachelor party story she’d heard in good confidence. I couldn’t quite resist the urge to send Ted a message:

-At one of my favorite college bars. Hearing horror stories of bachelor parties. No licking strippers.

I mentioned the message to our new friend, who rolled his eyes and told me I didn’t want to be that kind of girlfriend. But I do. I want to be the kind of girlfriend who can say something like that and it’s both funny and serious. But more funny. I think Ted gets it:

-I’ll try to contain myself.


~beatrix