The Icky reality of serial monogamy:

A panoply of exes commence their inevitable slide towards matrimony (Will I ever? No Never! Not ever? Well, hardly ever (Think Pirates of Penzance)). I just got an invitation to Angela # 1’s wedding. She called a few months ago to see if I would come. Family members will recall Angela as the date to my sister Sandy’s wedding, tall redhead. Oddly enough I was just looking at pictures of Angela # 1 last night, we had a BBQ here and someone asked how long I’d had Sebastian. I got out an album with puppy pictures, it also had undergraduate graduation with girlfriend shots in it, so Angela # 1 is dated to mid 1997 through these archeological details. Which would make Mary 96, Kelly 95, & Melinda 93 –94. Serial monogamist walking.

Will I & guest attend this wedding? I don’t know. It’s in Kansas City on May 30th and I’ve been meaning to get over there to see Jason & Tiff. If I took Angela # 2 to Angela #1’s wedding would that be more in bad taste than the obvious linguistic challenge? Sit at the back table with the obscure friends no one knows – you and the third cousins.
Culminating in one brief “what if” moment or a “so glad we can still be friends” moment. Ah Kansas City, City of fountains, you would think there is already enough recycled beauty in your haunts. Dare I pass through your pumps for one last spray? (That is clearly what Dennis meant by letting my rhetoric get away from me).

It would seem I am collecting Angela(s) like I once collected Stephanie(s). BJ always thought Angela #1 and I were the thing, he’ll tell you in grand style that a key mistake for me in life was not quitting Days Inn and following her to Manhattan Kansas. She liked
the thinking, but not the drinking & that’s the package so there you go. A driveway breakup in the gravel at 915 East Normal, the distance thing isn’t working, Kansas is too far away (PhD. in biochemistry). Who did I want to be free to see? I can’t remember… Kristen. Kristen in her Kojack coat in that first snowfall of 97. Making out in the front seat of the LTD at Thousand Hills Sate Park, late for my first shift as Manager on Duty at Days Inn. When I arrive, the power is out from the snow on the lines. By candlelight I escort my High School principle Al Burr, in his trademark beret, to his electronically locked room (that’s a short story waiting to happen). Oh how the mighty have fallen, him and me both.

The Candle -
The candle I walk Al with is the same heavy candle with the oil in the base that my boss’s secretary will hurl at his head right after she discovers that he has been tape recording the conversations she’s been having with her lover in St. Louis. Worse, he’s been giving them to her husband, the impotent husband who must suspect a lover as they have three children already. Steamy seedy Days Inn, park behind it and no one will know. She broke a coffee pot over his head as well, and now she runs the chamber of commerce, or did when I was there. Ah the ville, same as everywhere, risk and passion are always in fashion.

A few weeks later: Kristen, “I just don’t think I’ve resolved everything with XXXXXXXX.” Me in the cleverly named “Nights Out” lounge in Days Inn, “This is very simple, this is my problem or it isn’t.” “I’m just not sure what I want” “Then I guess this isn’t my problem.” Exit our hero through the stage door left. I sometimes have hard edges with which I cut people loose for self preservation. Kristen used langauge like no one I've ever met. Her favorite movie is Willie Wonka and The Chocolate factory. She Married XXXXXX and teaches high school biology somewhere out East. Ah well. Pandora’s emotional box will remain closed until the next showing.