mistakes, a tale

He knew he was totally fucked when she smiled at him. He knew it. Saw it in her smile lines like tea leaves in the bottom of a cup. The way her eyes lit up her entire face. He didn’t want this. Had fought against it for a long time now. In fact, he had done literally everything in his power to avoid this very predicament.

But the feeling in his gut told him he had royally screwed the pooch.

He would take a bullet for her. Lay on a grenade. Single handedly fight off drunken pirates.

And it was going to be hell.

Every agonizing moment of it.

So how did he get here? On one knee with a shaking hand holding a little box with ring in it? What missteps befell him?

Turns out, nearly every possible one.

Yet here he was, the fucking dolt, looking up at her as the tears filled her eyes.

“Will you marry me?” he asked. The slight tremor in his voice as nerves got the best of him. He watched her hand go in front of her mouth. Was he getting misty eyed as well?

Idiot.

She just stared at the box. Time stretched into agonizing slow motion. Just fucking answer already!

This isn’t going to end well. Not for either of them. This is a huge mistake. Say no. Say no. Just walk away. Don’t do it.

“Yes!”

Fuck.

God damn it all to hell.

He slipped the ring onto her dainty little finger. Nearly on the first try. And then the sobbing kiss and hug. Sickening. Just disgusting. Hope he kept the receipt.

Another one bites the dust.

Enjoy it while it lasts kids. Soon enough there will be mortgage payments and babies. Walking the dog at all hours of the night. A minivan in the driveway and late night diaper runs.

Remember the long nights out with the guys? Well that is all you are going to have now you sack of shit. Memories of them. And blow jobs? Remember those? You got about another year before those fucking things vanish. Soon it will be a quicky in the laundry room before the little hell beasts come knocking on the door. Blue balls and a lack of sleep is your future.

Did you learn nothing?

You just signed your death warrant mister. Slid the shackles onto your own wrists when you fumbled that ring on her finger.

This all could have been avoided. Ever heard of Tinder? You didn’t need miss right, you could have had a lifetime of miss right nows.

When has anything gone right for you?

Second grade. You told that girl you liked her in line at recess. What was her name? Brandy? Something with a b. Bernice? Brenda? Brittany? Unimportant. How did that go? She made a face of disgust and walked away.

Disgust. You were crushed.

Seventh grade. Everyone had a date to the dance. Where were you? Home watching some stupid show with your mother and father.

Eighth grade. New school, same story.

Ninth grade. You almost asked that one girl out. Almost. Then you saw her tongue in Brad’s mouth. Went home and wrote angsty teen poetry for six months after that.

You were smart in tenth grade. Ignored the drama. Kept your head down and hand firmly wrapped on your pecker. Beat it like it stole something. Remember how much easier that was?

Eleventh grade. You got a girl. Treated her good. Got to let your finger do the talking. That wasn’t so bad. Until she decided to reciprocate and your mom walked in. That girl never came back, did she?

Senior year. Finally got laid. For all of thirteen seconds. Her exact words were, that’s it? That was a real blow to the ego, wasn’t it champ?

And then the dark years began.

Your parents anniversary. They went out to dinner. And then the bar. How did that end up again?

Rear ended a semi. The official report was it was raining and they couldn’t stop in time. But we know better now don’t we?

Mom was tipsy and dad had two fingers in her. She was about to come and hit the gas a little too hard. The back bumper took her head off and dad was crushed by the dashboard. The medical examiner found his fingers still inside of her during the autopsy.

Remember your drunk uncle at the dual funeral? He stood up and asked which box the fingers were in. You tackled him as he announced to the room there were three options. You would have killed him then and there. Half the family would have let you. The other half had to pull you off as you repeatedly bashed his head off dear old mom’s coffin.

He still has the scars on his cheek.

Gonna invite him to the wedding?

Better make sure it is a pay bar at the reception. Could get messy.

You started smoking a lot of weed after that. And drinking. It began to affect your life. Blacking out. Waking up in strange bedrooms with women you didn’t recognize. That was a good time. The ladies loved a fixer upper. And that story about having just lost your parents made the panties drop.

Sploosh.

You didn’t milk that nearly long enough. Bouncing from bar to bar, whore to whore. How many of those could have been the one you were so drunkenly avoiding? Debra really tried but you blew her off when she told you she was falling in love. And Kim. Man, if she hadn’t been married and crazy as shit. And that stripper. What was her name? Candy? Barbie? Did you ever even find out her real name? She had talent. That girl could make a dead man hard as diamonds. That ass on her. My God. You could have watched her walk all day. Perfection. Pure perfection.

But no. You dodged that bullet like Neo in the Matrix.

Then you made up your mind to clean up. Start fresh. Make changes. Like a fucking fool.

And then you found this one. A barrista. How cliche is that? She started putting little hearts on your cup when you placed your order. It only took you two weeks to get up the nerve to ask her out. Against all better judgement I might add. Working her way through school. Gonna be a nurse. It was like one of those shitty romantic comedies. She moved in way too fast. Like two months in. Jesus Herbert Christ juggling dildos on the cross. The nerve.

And on the day after her graduation you popped the question.

Now you sit here, husband and wife. And where does that leave me? Best fucking friends for twenty years and you leave me alone like this. You rotten bastard. How could you?

Congratulations you two. I hope you spend the rest of your lives happily gazing vacantly into each other’s eyes. And nothing bad ever happens. But if it does, fuck it. You have each other. And in the end that is all that matters.

You fucking idiots.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Whaddya think?”

“That’s the toast you are going to with?”

“I poured my heart in this thing.”

“It could use a little polish.”

“Huh?”

“It’s fine. It is definitely you.”

“I only get to be best man at his wedding once or twice in a lifetime.”

“Probably once.”

“Yeah, unless…”

“Trust me. Probably only once. No matter what.”

“Maybe a little polish. Should I leave out the parents part?”

“I would.”

“Thanks for listening Father. I appreciate it.”

“You are welcome my son. Now say three Hail Marys on your way out.”

“Like the football pass?”

“Just go.”

9 thoughts on “mistakes, a tale

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