A Cautionary Tale

When I was a kid, I had a neighbor who was one of those people who was constantly doting on his house – always around, raking, sweeping and picking up stuff. One day, the newspaper wound up being delivered to his roof, just above his front door. Incredulously, he looked up at it, hands on hips, shook his head and said, “People are no damned good.”

I think about that little episode whenever someone disappoints me. It doesn’t happen all that often, since I think I am a pretty good judge of character. Sometimes, however, the evaluations go wrong, and I allow my own prejudices and priorities to creep in - especially with women. After all, there are 160 million of them in the United States, so the odds of finding a weasel in the bunch are low, right? That’s what I would have thought, but weasels, being weasels, are sneaky little bastards. That’s why they’re called weasels.

Inject the Internet into the mix and the possibilities for finding weasels increases, since the lack of an actual face-to-face greeting throws the monkey wrench in. As such, the on-line experience must be done with the utmost of care, as I was to find.

She lived over a thousand miles away. She was married, [uh oh - weasel alert] but willing to cheat on her husband because he was a skunk (which, some would say, makes her one too). I wasn’t seeing anyone, so I bypassed all the things in my head that told me it was a crazy notion, and proceeded – still looking for the weasels – but not quite as hard.

She told me that she was going to divorce her husband. FLASHBACK: I remember reading those Ann Landers columns where Ann would tell someone in my situation not to believe her when she said that, and to run, because people rarely follow-through on such hollow promises. Ann knows a weasel when she sees one. Nevertheless, I ignored Ann’s advice. Love blinds. Weasels lie.

To think that we could have sustained a relationship with the distance involved would have been hoping against hope to begin with, even in the ideal world where we were both single. Add to the mix the fact that we couldn’t see each other every day (or every month) and the general lack of time for anything besides hurried telephone calls and e-mail, and you see the problem. Why couldn’t I see it? [Is love blind, or does it just need glasses?] As great a benefit as the Internet is, it does not replace face-to-face or hand-to-hand contact.

I never should have started something that I knew I couldn't finish. To think that either of us would move to be closer was at least temporarily out of the question, so I could not anticipate when or if we could be closer. However, loneliness is everything it's cracked up to be, so any viable option to relieve the pressure is welcomed.

We did get together once - in person. Four enjoyable days, unbeknownst to Weasel's spouse or many in the general public. However, what I thought would be a promotional tour turned into a guilt-ridden angst festival, followed by her pulling away while I was moving closer. Gradually, it dawned on me that it just wasn't going to happen.

In the end, it just got to be too much, and it, as all things, had to end. The marriage got better and my place as the alternative had lost its meaning. Deceit and distrust had nothing to do with it, but should have had everything to do with it. After all, the relationship (such as it was) was based on deceit and distrust. Quite the foundation, eh?

Ann was right.

What surprized me was how she turned on me toward the end. Picking needless arguments over ridiculous things and reading things into innocent comments that could only serve to drive a wedge between us - which may have been her intent from the beginning. Weasels are hard to figure.

Here I am, broken up with someone that I was probably never “with” anyway. So, why do I feel so badly about it? Probably because I feel used and stupid. That's a bad combination. She’s one of 160 million women, so she’s not statistically relevant. She’s a fly-speck on a grain of sand. Something so insignificant in the grand scheme should not be awarded such high priority status. To be blunt, she isn't worth the 800 or so words I just wrote, but it's still free to blog, so, as Mr. "Bluto" Blutarsky once said, "It don't cost nothin'." Unless you don't count my heart, my trusting nature or the scars that will have to heal. Other than that, I'm doing great.

THE MORAL TO OUR STORY:

I cannot allow one weasel to ruin the whole hen house.

LESSONS LEARNED:

1 - Stay within your own time zone.
2 - Wait until you see the final divorce decree before giving up your heart.
3 - Dig deep to find the weasels.

One day next week, there will be a Weasel Warehouse Clearance Sale on Ebay of all the crap she gave me. Should be good for five or ten dollars.

Afterward, I’ll throw a newspaper on my roof in her memory..