Could It Be The Pheromones?

I have known for quite some time that I am really not girlfriend material. I just can't seem to get too excited about the prospect of being committed, except perhaps to an asylum.

You see, the trouble begins with my inability to pick appropriate men. I look back on the serious romantic relationships in my life and they look like something out of a poorly acted soap opera.

The first boy I ever loved with a heart old enough to purchase alcohol was this tall, dark, wild child from Indiana. He had moved up to Canada for the summer to play AAA baseball. He was a year younger than me, drove a Mustang and he could throw a 91 mile an hour fastball. We met by accident when he fell through the evergreen hedges into my back yard. We had the best summer as only two young twenty-somethings can but we always knew that he would go home to Indiana. We tried to do the long distance thing for a while and he was so decent about answering his phone even though I called like a total lunatic a bazillion times a day. However, on some level, I knew that I would never have to commit to this man because he LIVED IN ANOTHER COUNTRY! We are still good friends and I have already purchased the most insulting 40th birthday card I could find for him.

Then came the Honda CBR boy. He dropped into my life at a party. He was 6'5", dark haired and brooding. I mistook the quiet, unsmiling persona as mysterious and Marlon Brando-like. Wrong. He was just plain miserable. And gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that.....except that he asked me to marry him and I DID. Call me crazy but when a man asks a woman to walk down the aisle, the woman doesn't think to inquire if he might bat for the other team. Looking back, it was clear that on some level, I had to have known. After all, if it waddles, quacks and accessorizes better than me, it's a duck.

After that kick to my fragile feminine ego, I went out and found the biggest, most masculine, most Neanderthal-like man on the planet. If you looked sideways at him when he wasn't watching, you might have been able to catch his knuckles brushing the ground. Everything was a-ok as long as I was content playing cave woman. I fell hard and it was so easy because he was married to someone else at the time. We were still great friends, though. We'd have lunch and talk about everything under the sun using very. simple. words. He'd complain about his wife (red flag) and I commiserated because EVERYONE knows that the wife is the problem, right? I thought he was the second coming and I pined for him from afar.

Then, he did the unthinkable and left his wife. To compound the horror, he confessed that he was in love with me and wanted to pursue a relationship (danger sign, danger sign). I felt tremendous guilt along the lines of "be careful what you ask for...", so I married him, of course. Because nothing screams validation like being the new, much younger wife of a man in the throes of mid-life crisis. He is the father of my children.

I lasted a decade with him until one morning, I woke up and seriously contemplated the physics that would be necessary to smother him to death. You think that I am kidding...

Dallas is sweet and I have no regrets but he's still licking some pretty serious wounds. We have arrived at a comfortable place, though. I have a friend in another town who I dated for a few weeks and who treated me like a queen so naturally, I sprinted away from him. We're still friends, too. Something has changed, though because I have been asked out more often in the last two months than the last four years. Grocery store, line at the dry cleaners, Harley dealership, neighbour, etc. have all resulted in perfect strangers asking to exchange digits.

For instance, the other day I was at the hand car wash cleaning my vehicle to get it ready for trade in. I had my iPod on and I walked over to the vending machine to get some Turtle wax wipes (I like wipes-all kinds of wipes). I turned around and this guy started to make small talk about the bill changer and did I have any left over coins I might want to sell him. When I told him I had used my debit card, that launched a whole other discussion which ended with, "Gee. Your boyfriend? (pause while he waited for a confirm or deny which never came) is a lucky guy to be able to stay at home watching football while you're out washing the car." Big, bad, obvious fish for info but I just didn't feel like pursuing it so I smiled and went back to my car.

Well, I'm back out there again. I still do not trust my judgment because my track record is beyond pathetic. While I'm confident that my gaydar is now finely tuned, I'm not so sure about my ability to discern any other characteristic. One thing I do know for certain is that men must find commitment-phobes to be irresistible because my dance card is full.

Is it me or is your head on fire?

Yesterday, I met with Dr. Sexy Metro Boy and his perfectly manicured hands, which will be slicing my elbow open next Wednesday morning. I did a bit of research on him over the past couple of weeks and learned that he is the chief of surgery at one of our local hospitals, which makes me feel better because he's likely encountered a nutter or two in his career. My insane ramblings after surgery will probably go completely unnoticed.

We were discussing pain and I asked him how much to expect.

That depends on my tolerance...blah...blah..

Okay, for giggles, let's just say that on a scale of one to ten with active, cold sweat producing, toe curling, transitional labour being an eleven, where would this surgery rank?

Eight.

I see. Can we talk narcotics?

After the visit, I made the mistake of calling my ex husband to let him know the details. The following is an excerpt of the conversation which has been edited because I may have been liberal in my use of the "f" word.

"Hi. My surgery has been scheduled for Wednesday."

"So?"

"So, the kids will need to stay with you Wednesday night and likely Thursday." (slight raise in blood pressure because....)

"No. No way. Wednesday night is the night I spend with my little lady. You did this on purpose. You'll have to call your doctor back and reschedule for another day. I'm not going to take any heat from my woman over this." (and there we have it)

Notice that he used terms like, "my little lady" and "my woman" with a straight face. I think he fancies himself some sort of Clint Eastwood in an old western.
At this point, I removed the phone from my ear fully expecting it to sprout legs and give me a lap dance because something had to be more absurd than the conversation.

"Oh, yes. That should be no problem. I'll just call up the busy surgeon and tell him that the available operating room time is not going to work for YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!! Is your head on fire?"

"You deliberately scheduled it on a Wednesday to try to put a kink in my plans with her."

**sound of crickets**

With that comment, I gently turned off the phone because I felt myself running beside his shock treatment crazy train and wanting to jump on board. Choo! Choo!

Letter to the Father of My Children

Dear Ex,

I know that we haven't spoken much lately and that it my fault. I cannot seem to control the desire to beat you until you bleed so I thought it would be best to write a little note. Do you have a minute?

I am thrilled that you have a new girlfriend because we both know that you are much happier and far more productive when you have a fresh new soul to abuse. I also know that you are probably exhausted from the effort that it has taken to control your temper around her. You don't want to tip that hand too early, do ya'? We both know that your brand of criticism and negativity has to be dripped on your subject over a period of months so that one day, she will wake up and have no idea who she is. Only then can you unleash your famously irrational personality and by that time, she will be a mere shell of her former self.

I am a bit concerned that she has said she wants nothing to do with your children. I mean, where do you go from there? I am not upset with her. At least she was honest with you right up front. But I'm not sure how you are going to reconcile her position and your obligation as a dad. Oh, duh! When you said that the kids "cramp your lifestyle", you were referring to the four days of the month when you have visitation! Gosh, what an idiot I am. I shouldn't have assumed that the OTHER 313 DAYS IN THE YEAR to do as you bloody well please would be enough.

You might want to rethink that whole idea of "babysitting" your own kids because (if we are going to be clinical about the whole thing), who do you think will be "babysitting" you in your old age? Since your idea of a retirement plan is to take your inheritance and a second mortgage and dump them into a casino, maybe it would be wise to pretend that you enjoy spending time with your children. I think it will pay off in spades later on as they debate the pros and cons of a DNR order.

In any case, can we at least agree on a few rules when the kids stay with you? I know that you want to be their friend but what they really need is a father and most of the time, these two things do not have to be mutually exclusive. However, letting them stay up until the wee hours of the morning is being neither their friend nor their father. Do you understand that when they operate on less than 6 hours of sleep, they WILL GROW HORNS?

I think that most people would agree that children should be bathed and underwear changed at least once during a weekend. Swimming in your filthy pool, while a fun game of bacteria roulette, does not constitute bathing. Oh yes, another hygiene note: I know that you are not friendly with your toothbrush but would you mind asking the kids to brush when you are actually able to see fur on their teeth? No big deal..I'm just slightly concerned that they may slice their tongues open on all of that plaque.

Perhaps there might be a better breakfast choice than Oreo cookies. Gosh, I don't know. Maybe you could feed them sticks of butter or something like that. Also, I understand the need to whip through Wendy's or McD's every now and again but junk food for every meal will put them into spandex and heart failure faster than you can say gastric bypass surgery.

I realize that you consider yourself generous and while this is a lovely trait, maybe it would be best if you didn't share your nicotine, tar and arsenic with the kids. I know that I am an old Scrooge but I think they are getting plenty of pollutants in the normal air that they breathe. So go ahead, save that cigarette until after they get out of the car. I promise they won't be upset with you.

I'm sure that you will drop the kids home early even though you were close to an hour late picking them up. It's okay, though. I appreciate you giving me that extra time to speak with our ten year old son about making sure that his sister is buckled into a car seat and about confirming that there is an adult outside with them while they swim. Isn't it great that he is so responsible so young?

Anyway, thanks for the chat. I hope that the big karma boomerang doesn't realize what a complete waste of carbon you are and circle back to punt your sorry ass into the next life because inexplicably, your children would miss you. They love you, unconditionally. It's a pity that you can't see what a gift you've been given.