Ya now, if I ever got anywhere in my therapy, I would meet a woman. A fine woman. A woman of character and humor and grace. I would ask her out. We would charm and wine and dine each other. We we spend countless hours talking over pinot and galouise. Her hair could fall to her shoulders and slightly cover up her eyes. I would reach across the bistro table and brush the auburn locks aside with a smile.
Hand in hand we would discover the rest of what this town has to offer. Our hearts would wind slowly together. We could have holidays between work and still see our friends and spend time alone. The arguments would be small and quickly resolved.
The love-making would revolve between animal and intimate.
My family and her family would come together in a lovely ceremony some where on the coast. The sun would shine, a few puffy white clouds would give seabirds chance for chase and hide and seek. Our vows honest and earnest. We would be wed.
Then off to the see the world in travel and tearing the nations a new one. Sandstone arches, deserts, lush rivers. Our photos and journals would be fodder for our (hopeful) childrens’ bedtime stories.
At some point our love would become ready to settle, and we would buy our first house. A cute fixer-upper, again along the coast. A small two story home that required our handiness with tool and time.
And one weekend left to my own devices, she would travel to her sister’s house for breakfast, and I would put something like this together.
And she would come home and divorce my ass johnny-on-the-spot.