This full-time parenting thing is really cutting into my writing time. I’m half-tempted to homeschool just so I’ll have someone to watch Olivia when the idea for a post comes flittering into my head. Kids are a lot of work, y’all!
Anyway, I thought for those of you interested in why I’m not a huge fan of Bret Michaels I offer up this explanation. 1) I’m not into guys with long hair. and 2) remember when I told you that I was engaged in college? Okay, that guy had a thing for power ballads and big chords and songs that made girls want to show their boobs. There were many times that we’d be having a deep conversation and he’d make his point by reciting some lyric from like… Whitesnake or Scorpion or Skynnard. At first I was all ga-ga. The man felt the music. Wasn’t it beautiful how he sought out the meaning behind the words?
Eventually, once the shine to him wore off that endearing little habit just plain bugged. I’d say, “I don’t understand why we’re fighting so much lately,” and he’d respond with a shrug and something like, “Love is a battlefield.” And that certainly didn’t help the situation. Sometimes he’d stop everything and search out the perfect song in response to my comments. During a tender moment I might say something like, “I wonder if everyone is as perfect together as we are?” and he’d spend five minutes finding his April Wine tape so I could hear “Just between you and me (baby, our love was meant to be).”
Near the end we fought more often than not and during one miserable argument I’d slid down the wall and sat slumped outside our dorm doing the ugly cry. “Things just used to be so good,” in that sheep voice all women get when they’re sobbing. “I just don’t understand.” It might have even been raining that night. Let’s say it was, just for the mood. I do know that it was cold and was truly pathetic and in need of some serious comfort. I honestly wanted it to work. I honestly thought I would die without him. We were engaged. I’d alienated most of my friends and was on rocky terms with my parents because they didn’t understand our love. I was sitting in mud, people!
Instead of kneeling down to me, or sitting beside me and joining in the befuddlement of what had happened to our beautiful, perfect relationship (I was going to live on a FARM for Pete’s sake! And I was excited about buying a gahdamn combine!). Or hell, just even realizing that at that moment I needed to cry on his shoulder about us, he stood before me and shrugged. Then he said, “Every rose has its thorn, baby.”
And that is why I am not a huge fan of Bret Michaels. Or my ex-boyfriend from college.