Relationships: Why it Really Doesn't Matter That She Left You

I feel fully confident that I am qualified to expound upon this topic. I have had three failed marriages, three failed attempts at "just living together", three long-term relationships where we didn't live together, and God only knows how many girlfriends, dating partners and special, close acquaintances. After all of that, I finally discovered that I like my own company. If I need a date for something, I know who to call; and if I need something more than that, I know who to call for that too. In the meantime, I've become accustomed to doing things my way, and it feels good.

I don't have to hurry home from work. There's nobody at home counting to see how many minutes I was late today. If I want to stop along the way, I can do that. If I want to see a movie and have dinner before I go home, I can do that. If I want to go home by way of Chicago (I live in Kentucky), well, I can damned well do that too. You're right; there's no one waiting at the door with a big hug and a cocktail, but then, there never was before either. In earlier times, if someone was waiting at the door when I got home it was to tell me why my first job of the evening was to beat the kids.

I can live on my own schedule. That sounds a lot like the first item, but this goes a little deeper. I don't have to meet the obligations that are established without my knowledge and consent while I was away at work. I can have dinner at 5:00 pm or 11:00 pm or just wait for breakfast if I feel like it, and the only time I have to dress for it is when I want to. The neighbors are not coming over unless I invited them. My in-laws are not coming for an uninvited three-week visit because I don't have any. If I want to throw off my clothes at 5 pm on Friday night and stay that way till Monday morning, so what? Nobody is going to know but me and you, and you're not here to see it (be thankful).

I watch what I want to watch. If I want to see two guys beat the hell out of each other for two hours, I don't have to shut myself up in the bedroom with the twelve-inch B&W. If I want to watch Bugs Bunny for the whole weekend, that's OK too. Better yet, if I want to watch that twenty-something across the street in her bikini I don't have to cut the grass and do it out of the corner of my eye.

I have the things that I want, instead of the things that WE need, or that she wants. I never had a new car until I lost my last serious girlfriend. Why have a twelve-inch B&W in the bedroom, when I can have a thirty-two-inch color set there instead? Those ratty old jeans that feel so comfortable are mine till doomsday. The latest issue of Playboy can sit on the coffee table, next to the bottle of rum. My buddies can come spend the day, when I invite them, and I don't have to worry about being embarrassed by the tantrums of "the other half".

Everything is exactly where I left it. If I can't find something, it's because I put it someplace other than where I thought I did, not because somebody moved it after I put it there. Nothing is missing unless I know why it's missing. For example, guys, how many socks do you have that don't have mates? I haven't lost a sock in more than ten years. There's no mystery here. Your women are throwing them away. But they won't throw away the pair; just the ones that are bad (in their own opinion, of course). They're also throwing away your money. In that same ten years I haven't had a check to bounce, or had my credit card refused. That's because I am the only one that gets into my checkbook. I don't have to come up $200 short on the house payment because her sister's boyfriend needed bail (again) and she didn't want to tell me. I don't have to ask about the three dresses that showed up on the credit card statement, when she only told me about one.

I don't have to remember a lot of dates, not even my own birthday (which is a blessing at my age), and I don't have to remember Valentine's Day, or the day we met, or the anniversary of our first date, or her birthday or our wedding. I only have to keep track of Christmas, my sons' birthdays, and my mother's; after that the only thing on my calender is retirement.

I can go where I want to go on vacation, and I can do it my way. If I want to fly to Vegas and stay at a big name hotel, I can. If I want to take six days driving each way and sleep in a tent, I can do that too. While I'm on that vacation I can see what I want to see and do what I want to do. I don't have to wait for someone else to get ready and I don't have to stop because someone else is tired. The same goes for parties. Remember that party you went to where you got kind of flirty with that girl, maybe even copped a feel when you thought no one was looking? Remember the three weeks of hell you went through to pay for it? That doesn't happen to me. If I get flirty or cop a feel, I might actually get somewhere with it, and I don't even have to feel guilty about it.

As long as we're remembering things, do you remember when you first met her? She looked good, right? She treated you like a king. Whatever you wanted to do was fine with her. She wanted to get to know your friends and family. Your car was fine, even if it did break down now and then. There were times when you sat up all night, just thinking about how wonderful she was. Now think about this: what were things like just before the end? She'd put on a little (or maybe, more than a little) weight and she dressed better for her girlfriends than she did for you. She treated you like you were put upon this earth for no other reason than please her, but... Nothing you did, or could do, was good enough for her. Your family was trash, or worse,and your friends were a bunch of bums that she couldn't stand to have around. Your car was either too big, too small, too old, too cheap, too expensive, too something for you to keep; besides which, her girlfriend just bought a brand new (fill in the blank) that would be perfect for the two (three, four, or more) of you. The times you sat up all night recently was either because you couldn't stop the argument or because you didn't know where she was.

I've found that, after the newness wears off, and it's down to who you really are, most people can't stand to live in the same house with someone else. To those of you who have made it to your twenty-fifth anniversary, or your fiftieth, or whatever, I salute you. You have successfully buried yourselves to the point where neither of you are the people you truly want to be. You have each given up so many of your dreams that it's impossible to think of one of you without also thinking of the other. The proof of this comes at the very end, when one is left behind. This man or woman changes for all to see. He or she will begin to do things they have never done before. What was once unthinkable now becomes commonplace. These people change their looks, their habits, their favorite people and places almost overnight. The exceptions usually end up following their lost mates in just a few months or years.

There's an old joke that says; a woman marries a man, hoping he'll change, and a man marries a woman, hoping she won't; they're both disappointed. Behind every joke there's a hidden truth. In this case, it's not even hidden. If you absolutely, positively cannot live without having someone sleeping next to you, at least have enough sense to not put it on paper. And don't think the next one will be better than the last one. There are lots of fish in the sea, but they're all fish.