Why The "Wrong" Lasted So Long

He was the first of my seven chances at love.  I was twenty and he was twenty-five.  It was a blind date, but I knew he wouldn't like me.  He knew nothing about the girl his friend had set him up with, but I had known of him since I was in the eighth grade and he was a senior. He was one of the most popular kids in his class, as was his cheerleader girlfriend.

In 1965, the sixth day of the week was "National Date Night." Friday was used for causal, less important engagements, but Saturday night was reserved for that special someone.  The pressure of scoring a Saturday night date with HIM was making me sick.  I woke up that morning with a stomach ache and spent most of the day fighting anxiety. What had his friend gotten him into? How would he handle his disappointment?  Would he be kind in his rejection?

Nine years later, we broke up.  It wasn't by his choice that we went separate ways, but it was by his actions.

Forty-seven years later, I'm still analyzing what went wrong, and why the "wrong" lasted so long.  In the beginning, I was so stunned by his interest in who? me? that nothing else mattered. Controlling? Did that mean he cared and was concerned for my well-being? Manipulative? Since he was older, did he know best? Arrogant? Isn't arrogance a requirement for being an attorney?  But he was also handsome, charming, smart, fun and funny, and most importantly, he picked me.

Had it not been for a fear of marriage (what happens if you get married and then something better comes along?), a wandering penis, and that growth in my backbone, we might still be dating.

So there you have it, the first of my seven chances at love. Stay tuned. Next chance at love... If At First Love Fails, Try, Try, Try, Try, Try, Try Again.