i consider it a great accomplishment to look back on my marriage, remember the good stuff, look back fondly on a few things, and share them here. then i will rip him to shreds. kidding. kind of.
before he was mr soldier of fortune, he was a kid i knew in my neighborhood. we never really dated, but there was this innocent little fling(we never even kissed) the summer before my freshman year of high school that included trips to the pool and holding hands under the water so no one could see that we LIKED each other. i was so shy and inexperienced with this stuff that it never went anywhere. we were friendly in school, but never hung out. he ran with the rowdy boys and i stuck with my menagerie of friends. he seemed really irritated when i started dating tgws. asking me what i was doing with him and giving tgws major attitude.early in my relationship with tgws, we went to a school dance. at one point he excused himself to go to the mens room and out of nowhere msof appeared and asked me to dance. i was on the dance floor with him(dancing to this song) when tgws got back.he was not happy. i brushed it off as a friend thing, but i knew msof did it to piss him off and i let him. one of his favorite things to irritate tgws was to compliment my butt when i wore levi's 501's. man, he hated that. tgws graduated when i was going into my junior year and for some reason, i saw a lot more of msof. it was mainly in passing and he would usually make some sort of smart ass comment after which i would playfully slap or punch him. one time i must have hit him a little too hard because he yelled, "take it easy!" to which i replied, "you know you love me". what he followed up with really caught be off guard, "you are living in the past". living in the past?! was he saying he loved me at one time? he never told me, how would i know? i didnt dwell on it for long, but it never left me. it probably one of the reasons i went out with him 3 years later when he showed up on my doorstep with his military haircut and asked me to come with him.
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