A Lame Memory

Some relatives, I had not seen in a few months, dropped by to visit earlier. They touched on many subjects centralizing on family members, upcoming nuptials, work.

I’m not a big family socializer, at all. In the midst of a visit I do alright and let myself enjoy the company. Afterward, I tend to reflect on the conversation.

I’m not always making a big fuss about what was said. I have summed up my personal feelings, by age. I’m not in to what anyone thinks or feels about certain things like relationships. Because this is your opinion, your life choice, not mine. I cannot investigate what you’re saying is factual, so I may not believe you.

So, fast forward I remembered my relationships. The crap I allowed myself to tolerate. I have suppressed those long gone days. But recall sitting in a salon chair getting my hair styled for a big occasion; married.

The stylist asked, “What’s the occasion?” I’m getting married. “Whoowee,” she said. Then she went crazy on hairspray.

Well, long story short, I wasted that money. The boy slash friend did not show up to finalize this misunderstood commitment. I remember not caring about this. But more importantly I might’ve been embarrassed. Which is worse?

I don’t recall telling anyone the news, either. But I did make an effort to prepare for the event. I don’t know.

I might have a “Left at the altar,” story. That sounds terribly wrong. I wasn’t hurt, at all. I probably wasn’t thinking what marriage really meant. We didn’t have a dinners, movies, long walks laughing relationship, anyway.

If I had to put a name on that memory, it would be ‘lame.’

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