old love

The Fox and Hound Pub in Birkdale, NC is a dark smoky bar and it was a hot, lazy, summer night. I had stopped in to eat my dinner there alone, at the massive, mahogany, alter of alcohol. It was 7:30 and still light out, people wouldn’t start coming in for a few hours and I could eat in peace. Halfway through my burger and second Sol, the drunk off to my left raised his volume and announced his name was Tim and he was from Texas. I glanced and sure enough he was talking to me. Not sure I wanted to have the random drunk guy conversation, I nodded and took another bite of my burger. Tim from Texas was going to tell me about how bad ass he was, and how his move to North Carolina would take the world by storm and that he would make his million dollars whether I wanted to hear about it or not. I must admit, it was kind of  refreshing to see such blind naïveté. Tim from Texas rattled on and on buzzed and full of his own hype.

I finished my burger and had grown tired of Tim from Texas’s bright future rhetoric, so I stood to leave. Tim from Texas offered to buy me a beer if I sat back down and kept him company for a little while longer. I clearly remember weighing free beer against whatever was on TV that night. Shortly after Tim’s second free beer, and my empty burger plate was taken away, they walked in. Taking purchase of the two stools just past Tim from Texas, two girls sat down, one loud Blonde and one short Brunette, both beautiful.

Brunette was a dead ringer for Jennifer Aniston, and she was looking at me. There was a softness to her mannerisms which hid a fire that danced in her eyes. Ms. Blonde leaned in, blocking our little unspoken conversation and said “Hey. Wanna buy a girl a drank?” Blondes are all the same, they just sit in different places, waiting to pounce. Men are genetically predisposed to buy blonde women drinks even though we want the brunette. That’s one of the reasons Red Heads have such a bad temper.

Tim from Texas leaned toward me and said “Waa-chis…” and he lit into these two girls with his litany of self aggrandizing bullshit in a vain attempt at trying to start a conversation. Ms. Blonde wasn’t having any of that shit and mortally wounded poor Tim from Texas’s manhood. Brunette and I met eyes again and our visual conversation continued as we silently laughed at how skillfully Ms. Blonde made a mans ego impotent.

Tim from Texas paid his bill, tucked tail and whimpered out of the bar. I have never seen him since.

I must thank him for laying the base of a wonderful conversation that eventually led to Brunette and I meeting, dating, my meeting her daughter, my falling in love with both of them, us becoming a couple, moving in together, and my buying a ring.



As I write this, I am a single man living in California. You might guess things did not progress much past that point. Crushing to my soul, it still hurts to think about some of it. Shortly after we were no longer together, she married.



Ms. Blonde sends me an email the other day, telling me that Brunette has gotten a divorce, and how I should call. While I am not too keen on putting my hand back on that hot stove, it did stir memories I had packed away.

One of Eric Clapton’s nicknames is “God” because of his skill on the guitar.

Dear God,

Old Love


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