Sometimes you have to kiss a frog
I am a much married woman, having flounced down the aisle in over-priced dresses a grand total of three times. I am not proud of this; it is simply a fact.
The three men couldn’t have been more different. They were like the three bears: Mr. Small, Mr. Big and Mr. Big and Tall.
Mr. Small and I married in the summer of 1980 and that marriage lasted six years, though it was really over about two months in, when Mr. Small was caught inflagrante with an intern in the copyroom of the Pariamentary Press Gallery. The intern — who was actually a friend — confessed this to me, tearfully, one night over drinks at the Press Club. I should have divorced him right then and there, but I liked him, and it wasn’t until years later that we parted ways and he married a long time mistress, and I married Mr. Big, my second husband.
Bleaders have heard about Mr. Big ad nauseum, so I won’t bore you once again with a long list of his marital violations. Suffice it to say, my second marriage also fell on the sword of infidelity, and Mr. Big ran off with a woman I like to refer to as the White Witch of Bermuda. By all reports, they are still together, God Bless Them.
Next week, Mr. Big and Tall and I will celebrate our second wedding anniversary. We’ve actually been together for seven years — an all time personal best for me. We are still very happy and I have seen no evidence of hoes lurking in the bushes, ready to pounce. Scott is an extremely loyal man, with strong personal values. He is a child of divorce — his dad Warner traipsed up the aisle three times, after chasing interns and television producers — and he has no time for men who leave their children for any random va-jay-jay. Scott has also been through two painful divorces of his own, and he has no time or assets to give to up to another.
At the age I am, I can confidently say I am not bitter about my past failures at coupling. Both Mr. Small and Mr. Big were significantly older than me and both are within striking distance of the Old Age Pension. Scott and I are the same age, and at 54, that’s a fine meeting place. We have the same history, many of the same interests, and we share common values. Besides which, we’re both arrested teenagers who like to drink beer in the backyard and listen to DAWG-FM.
I look forward to growing old with him, though I understand that sometimes that’s not in the cards. When people get married at our age, quite often it’s more for worse — healthwise — than better, so we cherish every day we have together, in good health and in good humour.
I am grateful for my past mistakes; I have learned from them. When my kids get down because of a heartbreak, I tell them, not to worry, there may be many years of breakups again. I tell them never to give up hope. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince.