What I was like when ... I was single

.

(The first in what I hope is not a continuing series of apologia.)

It appears to me as if the blogosphere is collapsing our traditional six degrees of separation into a much less manageable two or three and that any flippant comment may get a person in trouble.

For instance, Thursday night I said something about Person A to Person B. By no mans should Person B know Person A, and yet, being bloggers both, Person B does know Person A, albeit not in the “real world.”

But! Person B does know Person C and told her what I said of Person A last Saturday. Now, Person C knows Person A personally and it is only a matter of time before Person C tells Person I what I said which will likely give Person A either

1) The great flatteries or

2) The extremely creepy heebie-jeebies

with the latter being more likely.

It is because of the likely effect upon Person A of this not-thot-thru comment that I am posting now.

The comment had to do with marriage and my thoughts thereon when single. The comment was absolutely true, wildly misleading and intended to be funny. (To date, no one has laughed.)

Absolutely True: Because it was.

Wildly Misleading: Because it was true of most breathing women in my geographical vicinity for at least 1.3 seconds.

Intended to be Funny: Hahahahahahahaha!

Not that she needs it, but if she so desires, Person A has my permission to tell exactly how geeky and clueless I was as a single Provoan in her estimation. Which was a lot. But here are some of my own evidences of said geekiness:

* I inflicted upon the fairer sex the 3-hour date. Generally (at least) the last hour consisted, for instance, Person A wondering how to get rid of me and me wondering how to leave.

* When geographical distance multiplied itself by five hundred, I wrote long letters on stationery of my own making that would feature such non sequiturs as sheep. (Preferably purple.)

* I could express just about any thought in a way that would give potential mates two distinct thoughts:

"He thinks the patron saint of woodchucks wants us married!"

&

"Run away!"

* The 12-hour date.

* I was remarkably unable to distinguish between girls who could muster interest in me and those who could muster a small pox quarantine for me.

* The concept of taking a beautiful woman OUT to DINNER seemed as fiscally responsible to me as helping out distressed Nigerian bankers.

* My idea of a clever Christmas present was a G.I. Joe figure in a necklace box.

Anyway, I a not at all falling into cliche when I say Thank God Lady Steed married me.

Because it certainly wasn't me that won her over.