Wednesday, August 31, 2011

ONCE UPON A CLICHE, Part 2

By Heather McCoy

I was madder than a wet hen. My friends had pulled me out of the frying pan and into the fire. I could feel my blood boil. I'd had it up to here with their attempts to make me happy.

Sure, time heals all wounds, but I was perfectly happy sowing my wild oats. Besides, I could still feel the egg on my face from the last relationship I screwed up. And I had always heard that history repeats itself.

Once bitten, twice shy, I did all I could NOT to fall for him. I was used to walking on eggshells around a drunken man who talked with his fists. The more I watched him, guitar in hand, the more I realized I should just take the bull by the horns. I would jump in head first - no reservations, no fears.

But this man was too good to be true. He sang like a bird and stole my breath away. His eyes his body, his smell - they all just sweetened the pot. Love no longer seemed like an uphill battle. It was as warm and inviting as grandma's kitchen.

He was a kind man; the type of man that would give you the shirt off his back. He was a real man - a man's man, strong as on ox. He had skeletons in the closet, but so did I.

I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers, and followed him out to the porch. "Hello," I mustered, tongue tied.

He took another draw from his cigarette, not missing a beat, before replying, "Hey."

I grew as water. It was time to sink or swim...

Now I look back on how I almost cut off my own nose to spite my face. He was nearly the one who got away. My dream man, my soul mate. I thank my lucky stars for my love and the twist of fate that brought us together.

***

Heather McCoy rocks it like a peanut butter famine (copyright Joey Goebel)

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