Mawidge

Mawidge…mawidge is what bwings us togewer today… Mawidge, the bwessed awwangement, that dweam wiffim a dweam… Ven wuv, twoo wuv, wiw fowwow you fowever..

If you’ve been following the commenting saga below at all, you know that my latest serious ex-girlfriend is engaged. For my ego, I will say recently just so that I can assume it took the maximum amount of time to get over me. This can, of course, be a fairly humbling time filled with depression and self-pity.

Luckily for me, though, I have a far more troubling issue to think about: The Trend.

What could The Trend possibly be, you ask? What could be so important so that you forget that the last person you thought you might marry is now nightly getting it from some tall dark stranger with a huge… bank account and a stiff… upper lip? The Trend is this: every “real” girlfriend I have ever had has either:

.: married the guy immediately after me, or
.: at least gotten engaged within a year and a half of our break up… but typically is actually married in less than a year.

I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in for a little bit.

OK. Every. single. girlfriend. Granted, I’m not talking about the hood-rats, I’m not talking about the what-was-your-name-agains?, I’m talking about real girlfriends with durations of at least 6 months at one extreme, and over 6 years at the other. And this reaches all the way back to high school to now, apparently, present day. Off the top of my head that means I have personally been responsible for the ultimate happiness of something like 5 girls.

That doesn’t sound like a lot, but then again that sounds like a whole HELL of a lot. This is 5 times that I’ve said ‘I love you’ and meant it. This is 5 people representing well over 10 years of my life. This is 5 people that I have found it so easy to get over me that they’re not only ready to date someone else quickly, but they’re ready to get fucking married!

I have two theories:

Theory 1 – in which I look like a douchebag
By the end of our respective relationships, I am so unbelievably awful that my ex’s are desperate to be taken out of the dating scene. Obviously, there are only psychos like me out there and the next guy that says they’re pretty without blinking is The One.

Theory 2 – in which I still look like a douchebag, but in the best possible way
I, in all my glory, leave such a gaping hole in the lives of my ex’s that the only possible way to fill it with an equally significant relationship is to actually marry someone. “Dating” leaves them wanting, “moving in” is so banal, and only the ultimate committment of marriage can even come close to approximate the depth of feeling, love, and caring they experienced when they were with me.

Yeah, I’m leaning towards number 1, too.

If, by the way, this experience has taught me anything, it’s this: date me. Ladeez, I know you’re out there, and in ever increasing numbers. You want that ring, and I’m just the man to get it for you… indirectly. Date me, tell me love you me, do things to me your mother has never heard of, and then leave me for that bright pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. ‘Cause honey, one way or another, you’re leaving here hitched.