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The f***wits I dated

November 7, 2013
Logo by Christine Hepner

I didn’t plan to wait to have a baby at 51, it just worked out that way. I knew that I really didn’t want to be a single mom, and since I was single until I met D at age 45, well, there you go. (Oh, and for those of you not in Australia, the word “f@@kwit” roughly translates in American English to “a-hole.” I dated an Aussie guy for a few years who used to say his biggest fear was one day finding out one of his ex-girlfriends wrote a book called, “The F*ckwits I Have Dated.” Now, this ain’t a book, but it will have to do.)

My dear friends often tell me that I’m the smartest one in the crowd for waiting so long to marry, because I certainly did get a great man. And while they are totally right about the D being one of the best, they give me way too much credit. While they were getting married and raising families, I was wasting an awful lot of this prime time in my 20s and 30s dating the wrong guys, the bad guys, the emotionally unavailable guys–think “Sex and The City” without the great clothes, shoes, apartments, or jobs. Just the great friends and the bad relationships.

Strangely enough, my love life started out promisingly. In 1st grade, I fell desperately in love Patrick, the most popular boy in our class. We had to go to church every Monday morning (Catholic school), which was supposed to make up for the kids whose parents skipped mass on Sunday. It sucked for kids like me since my parents wouldn’t skip mass if it were being held on the side of an erupting volcano. I used the church time to stare at Patrick in the pew ahead of me and pray that he’d love me too.

In 3rd grade, all those prayers were answered! One lunch time in the cafeteria, Patrick sent his best friend and wing man, Louis, over to my table. Louis could barely look me in the eye, but he managed to say, “Do you want to be Patrick’s girlfriend?” I could barely breathe! I managed to say “yeh” without wetting my pants or fainting, and that was it. I was officially going out with Patrick! From that moment until the sad day about 3 weeks later when he dumped me (by sending Louis back over to my table and telling me it wasn’t me, it was Patrick), we never said more than 10 words to each other. If we saw each other in the hall, we’d almost run past each other to avoid having to talk or look at each other for too long. Those nuns had done their jobs well. I was afraid if I said too much or was too friendly, I’d get pregnant. Maybe not right there in the hallway in 3rd grade, but soon!

Patrick dumped me for a younger woman, a girl in the 2nd grade named Diane. That was 1968 and the beginning of a downward spiral where my love life was concerned. The less said about the 35-odd years between Patrick and finally meeting the love of my life, D, the better. As for Patrick and Diane? I don’t know, really. We moved in 1973 and I lost touch with those early childhood friends. I’ve looked them both up on Facebook, but I’ve never found either one of them. I wish them well. I’d like to think they went on to live fulfilled and happy lives, but that every once in a while, Patrick thinks back to that girl in 3rd grade who he dumped with regret. And I hope Diane got really fat.

Next time: Will I ever get a job?

© copyright 2013

  1. Well that’s just the best title ever! This Aussie here appreciates it greatly!!


  2. Christine Hepner permalink

    Don’t Even go there! I’ve dated more Aholes than I care to remember. Wrote an outline for a book even. At 52 still looking. I love who I’m dating now, we’ll see. Hopefully won’t have to meet him in a nursing home! 🙂


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