Now, our Prince Charming no longer has to be tall, dark and handsome. We would settle for short, balding and near sighted if they treated us right, had a decent job (20 hours a week at Burger King does not qualify), and didn't leer at every woman in a short skirt that happened to prance into their line of vision. Remember, our Prince Charming is now near sighted so the woman would have to be pretty darn close!
Being a college-educated woman in my late 20's, I tried not to let dismal statistics of my chances of finding Mr. Right and settling down drive me to despair. However, in one of my weaker moments, I caved and dated a very hot-looking loser of the highest rank, a Five-Star General of losers. If you rated losers on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the worst, 10 being bad, but at least without an advanced case of leprosy, this loser was top of the heap, holding the #1 spot.
In those days, I was drawn to the "bad boy" type if for no other reason than to annoy my Dad. Paybacks for all those times he checked the mileage on the car to see how far I had driven! It all started innocently enough. We met at one of the coffee shops I frequent on my way to work. He was reading the New York Times and sipping a latte. The latte should have given me a clue that something was "off" about this guy, but remember I was having a weak moment and oh, those crystal blue eyes! We somehow struck up a conversation and he asked if we could meet for dinner that weekend. I accepted, and several things led to several other things.
I should have noticed the "I'm a loser" cues long before the fateful day of our breakup. We dated for several months and I was often left picking up the tab for dinner, a movie or drinks. He always had an excuse that, at the time, appeared feasible. "I'm waiting on my commissions" or, yes, I even fell for "I left my wallet in my apartment." He was a master manipulator and I fell into his trap.
What could I possibly have been thinking? I should have known; beauty fades, but dumb is forever! However, there is always that one defining moment, situation or occurrence in any doomed relationship that is the proverbial "eye opener." Something happens so inexcusable that even a master manipulator can't talk his way out of it. That day came on, of all days, my birthday.
While I was at work, Mr. So Not Right, decided to take a pleasure cruise in my car, at my expense, and without my permission.When he finally decided to return my car later that evening, probably due to not having the funds to fill up the gas tank, he sauntered into my apartment as if he had just returned from a quick trip to the store for a loaf of bread. To add insult to injury, my Five-Star General loser asked if the flowers that he ordered were delivered for my birthday! Well of course not, lame brain; you have to order them first!
At that moment the clouds parted, and the angels shouted from heaven, "LOSER." I fell swiftly from the pink, fluffy cloud of denial I had been floating on and saw sorry excuse for a so-called boyfriend for who he really was; a loser and a user who got by on his good looks and inherent charm. I not so politely told him to leave my premises and that I did not expect to ever see his mug again, in this lifetime or the next.
Yes, there definitely comes that one defining moment in any bad relationship; mine came when I realized that not only did this virtual stranger in my life have proclivities for grand theft auto, but also he had to give me some pitiful story about birthday flowers not being delivered. Every lady in the land knows that failing to recognize a special occasion like a birthday is an absolute deal-breaker; this is a court from whence there is no appeal!
I grew stronger and wiser from my run in with the Five-Star General loser. I'm an intelligent, educated, and gainfully employed woman with much to offer. If a man does not have the same to bring to the table, then we don't have anything to talk about, no matter how mesmerizing those blue eyes. There are always footnotes to good stories about bad mistakes. In my case, my instincts were right on the mark. About two weeks after I showed Mr. Wrong and his hallucinogenic flowers to the door, he called one morning and brightly asked, as if nothing were amiss, if I would come down to the county jail and post his bond on a DUI arrest that occurred on the previous evening. As far as I know, he is still sitting there. And that's me, laughing last!
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