October 20, 2014, will be three years since I filed for divorce. I’ll take the single life over the misery of that pathetic marriage any day. In fact, this year I’ll celebrate my antiversary weekend in Amsterdam and Zurich.
Twenty-four years ago, on October 19, 1990, a friend wrote and said she picked this postcard because it made her think of me:
Now I look at this old image and remember the hopeless romantic optimist I used to be.
More than two decades, a couple of divorces, and dozens of demolished roses later, I know how it all comes out.
I’ll buy my own damn flowers, but I’m leaving the petals intact.