Humor me. What do the following things have in common: an ex-boyfriend from high school/college… kayaking… writing… male pattern baldness… and Facebook.
Before I tell you, there’s a very real part of me that wants each of you to post your guess. However, there’s also a little voice in the back of my head saying, “That first voice is the one that got you sold for sheep in Italy (which is a completely true story). DO NOT LISTEN TO IT. Instead, keep in mind that some of these people actually know you and are armed with information about your life that you do not want shared via the Internet (you know who you are). Control the message and cut to the chase.”
So this is me getting to the point… kind-of… because, before I can tell you that part of the story, I have to tell you this part first. My name is mkromd, and I am a Facebook idiot. No really, it’s true. I don’t know how to post private comments, play games, or subscribe to feeds. I know how to “like” things and “poke” people. Seriously. Given all that, you can imagine my shock when a guy I dated twenty years ago found and friended me.
Now, to be clear, he’s not just any guy. He was the first guy I ever actually cared about, as well as being the first guy to ever break my heart. And as I sat there, debating whether or not to accept his request, my friend (a large, beautiful, twenty-four year old, African American man who played college football) walked into my office, so I asked him what he would do, and I swear to God, this is what he said, “Oh HELLLLL no. This is exactly why I don’t have a Facebook account. My wife thinks that I only slept with ten women before we got married. I don’t know why she thinks that. I never told her that, but she does, and who am I to kick a gift horse in the mouth. I don’t need girls from my past finding me, or - worse yet, finding her. Let it go.”
But I couldn’t and alas… I succumbed to the temptation. Honestly, I didn’t care if he was married and happy. In fact, I wanted him to be. I also simply hoped that he would be bald. So I accepted… and I was vindicated… because he is… which, oddly enough, is a good thing. If he hadn’t been, I would have posted, “Oh no… Damn it. Are you working a twelve step program for creepy porn addicts and need to make amends?”
For the record - he was never a porn addict… but he is a college professor on the East coast now… and a lot of his students are linked to his page… and that would almost have made up for prom… almost. But I digress.
The point is that we started chatting, and honestly - I have NO idea what we saw in each other. He still whitewater kayaks like we did in high school and college; whereas I simply paddle in, sleep on the beach, and paddle out... He’s bald, while I – however - have hair… He grew up to be an English Professor who is writing the way too serious all-American novel; whilst I am a hack-blogger who hopes to get published one day… He looks like Mr. Clean, and I am lucky enough to use shampoo every morning because I need to - not simply because I miss it… He’s still pretty athletic and built like the Hulk; whereas I exploded out of my dress two weeks ago because I ate three doughnuts in a meeting (also a true story). He’s… what’s the word… bald? And I’m… well, not. Well, not yet anyway. Karma is a bitch. So, as much as I’m enjoying this… and I am... I have to stop or he and I will finally have something in common… other than the fact that our lives worked out perfectly and we’re both happily married to the people we were meant to find.
Talk to you later.