I left PDM alone all day while I went to a basketball game, but I was nice enough to bring him a six pack when I came home (or as I put it, "your bouquet of beer"). We don't really do Valentine's Day around here. There were no hearts or flowers or chocolate. There were, however, a couple of very low key cards. And maybe some smooching.
So, in the anti-Valentine spirit, I thought I'd share a few tidbits about the men with whom things didn't exactly work out.
There was the one that, I kid you not, had a picture of his car in his wallet. A car he no longer owned. And he wouldn't let me park my foreign car in his driveway. Yeah, that didn't work out.
There was the one that was allergic to cats. Doomed from the start.
There was the one who was never really mine. And mom hated him. Didn't pan out.
There was the one who "didn't mind" that I was an engineer, but didn't really want me to ever talk about what I did for a living either. Apparently he didn't find smart women sexy, or maybe he just wanted to talk about his stuff all the time. Nyet.
There was the one who lied on his resume. And couldn't keep a job. (Hmmm, those two items might possibly be related.) And never finished anything. And was a slob. And extremely juvenile at times. And irresponsible. And never pulled his weight. And lied to his wife about his background, maintaining the elaborate network of lies for years. I didn't find out about that last one until after we were divorced, but it answered a lot of lingering questions. Turns out he was a pathological liar. I have no idea if anything he ever told me was true. Biggest mistake, ever.
None of these guys are PDM. He's a keeper. And that is as mushy as I will get on this February 14th.