It was a case of opposites attract. I should have known it would never work out when I went to his condo for the first time-white carpet, white couch, professionally framed photographs on the wall, monogrammed hand towels in the bathroom, everything perfectly placed.
"Do you have a maid," I asked.
"No."
"Did your mother stop by today?"
"No."
I should have made for the door that instant, but I didn't--because on the surface he was everything a woman would want in a mate. Reputable family, career-driven, impeccably dressed, athletically built, up-standing citizen... and hot. But cold.
It finally ended--spectacularly--one evening at dinner. Let's just put it this way: my tolerance for people who judge other people based on their race, religion or sexual preference is low. My defense of people's rights to be judged on their own merit-and not on a stereotype-is, uh, well, loud. And "Edward's" tolerance for a screaming girlfriend in the middle of Copper Cellar was decidedly low. He got up and walked out, leaving me to pay the tab and find a way home. Neither of us ever looked back.
But one thing he said to me has stuck for nearly 20 years now. He said "You are better than this."
Better than what? Better than the life I was living then?
As I look around, I see books stacked high, paint jars and brushes clutter tables, three dogs asleep on the floor and I hear music being made down the hall, in a house that's falling down as fast as we can prop it up-a house that's filled with chaos and laughter, warm with the smell of coffee and cinnamon. I see a yard with daffodils in the Spring and weeds in the Summer with neighbors who meet on porches, enjoy each other's company and do things for each other. I see a job I love going to every day with people who care about what they do. I see a family and friends who love me just the way I am. I see a life filled with ups & downs, emotional turmoil and euphoria.
Better than what?
Better than this?
I don't think so.
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