YES I want to hear about how you met your partner, best friend, first baby, dog or cat, or any other significant OMG it’s YOU kind of story, please and thank you!

This week’s offering starts off with Sue’s account of how a truly fabulous beginning turns to shit in the longer run. It was, however, a movie-worthy start:

After a long, boring summer job and before heading to graduate school I needed a week off. So I gathered up my aunt and best granny (who was in serious need of some R & R) and headed to a rented cottage at the beach with my bikini and a couple fat novels.

Warm late August sun, fat epic novels, long hours beside the lake, easy suppers. Auntie and I cooked and Gram cleaned up.

One evening after another such lazy day a walk to town was planned. As we three strolled the sandy road a car whizzed by then stopped suddenly and quickly reversed.

“Sue, is that you?” he asked. How long had it been, seven, eight years? What is his name again? He said it, “Michael. Michael Carruthers. Remember me?”

I hardly remembered, but said I did. Best not insult. He looked good, so very tanned, clear blue eyes, in a white shirt with a tie. I knew for certain I’d never seen him even in shoes before.

Bare feet and roller skates. That’s what I was remembering.

After about two minutes in the middle of the road we established that I was vacationing for a week with my Aunt and Grandmother at a cottage corner of 6th and 2nd, just down the road from the place he and friends had rented for the summer. It was Friday evening.

“Lots of us are getting together tonight at my place. You’ll remember some, Gren, Robbie, Bonnie, Denny. Come on down and join us. Robbie will have his guitar. We’ll have a fire.”

“Maybe, I’ll see.”

“Please come.” He tried to be persuasive but I had no intention of wandering off into the summer night to reconnect with a group of quasi friends I hardly knew, even back then.

Did I mentioned I was engaged? Teddy and I had been dating for 7 years. He’d promised to formally propose that summer, then flunked his third year law and put off the whole thing. I was hurting, not sure why. A dream dried up, I supposed.

Gram and Aunt knew. They didn’t much like Teddy anyway and really didn’t take to him calling me, “doll” all the time. Disrespectful, they said.

“You have to go, You need to get out and have some fun. You have to stop moping around.

This young man looks just fine.”

They insisted we turn right round and go back to the cottage so I could get ready. Ready for what, a campfire and log stool. Fine. We retraced our steps even though I certainly wasn’t going anywhere to party with a bunch of strangers.

My heart did the flutter dance an hour later when I looked out the cottage window and saw him again. Tall, beautifully shaped, barefoot, shorts and a tee accompanied by a large black dog, shiny black hair, both.

“C’mon”, he said, “I’ve come to walk you. It’s just down the road.”

And so began a 33 year marriage which came to a strange and twisted end. We’ve all heard the story — affair with the younger secretary while wife struggles through menopause. In this case wife got the last laugh by arranging a full face lift and boob job (refreshing the old chassis, as she puts it) and sent him the bill.

Jacqueline consulted a psychic about her chances of finding Mr. Right and was told she’d meet him at 34, marry him at 35. That he would treat her like a lady first and a woman second, and would build her 5 houses. Her story hasn’t ended yet because she’s still with the love of her life, 41 years and counting.

I thought that after 11 years I was finally over my first marriage which lasted one year, and I was ready for a committed relationship. I made a shopping list of what I wanted in a partner and was so ready to meet THE ONE.

It happened during a telephone sales call. His receptionist gave me his private line since I’d called so many times, and he never returned one of those calls. After I heard the first ring on his end I began doodling and was then caught off guard when he suddenly barked “Hello!” Recovering quickly I asked, “Is this THE so and so…” Long silent pause ensues. I thought I had pissed him off with my cheekiness. Finally he responded: “Yes! Tis I, king of kings, lion of Judah, defender of the faith, protector of virgins, and all other Haile Selassie’s titles.”

The rest of our conversation continued in this fun, and flirty, manner and we met, and married 18 months later. And he built me 5 houses.

And just to prove that it’s not just life partnerships that deserve mention, this workplace encounter:

The room was, as usual, messy and cluttered. The windows, which were never open, were dirty, also as usual. The morning light outside didn’t help much. The reporters wandered in and found seats, waiting to see what the cops wanted to offer and whether they would have any straight answers to any serious questions. It was an old dance —everyone knew the steps. Nothing to see here.

But there was something to see today; a new reporter and, better yet, a woman — early twenties, decently dressed, unconventionally pretty. A smart college kid, by the look of it, but she settled in easily, and swapped a few lines with the cops, old guys in suits who were happy to have something brighten up the daily news conference. Then the senior one decided to have some fun, pulling out an overnight report involving a sexual assault, which he recounted in clinical detail, waiting for a response.

He got it; she looked straight at him, smiled, and said “Ew — my notepad feels … sticky.”

They laughed, but it wasn’t an easy laugh; they knew they’d lost the round, and they couldn’t get a rise out of her. Yes, I thought.

Today’s musical offering takes us back to the days when hair was big and pants were skin tight. I suppose that also covers the Elizabethans….

Until next time, stay open to possibilities!

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