History repeats. Time heals all wounds. What is America without it's great clichés? Today, in honor of it being no particular day at all, I thought I'd pit these clichés against each other in post-marital combat.
A few months ago, I had a great opportunity. I was excited, but also disappointed at the same time. Anyway, I was disappointed by the news because the first person I always ran to was MyUnwife. She may not have helped in the bad news arena, but she was a great supporter of the good. Last June I realized I couldn't do that anymore. She no longer sat on my side of the field. Pop! There went my joy-balloon. My victory turned bittersweet. I don't like it when people get bitter in my sweet. They are not two great tastes that go great together.
Yesterday, I received more good news, a new opportunity, a new feather for my cap. Once again, I couldn't tell her. I mean there wouldn't be any legal ramifications; it's not even a financial blip. By other's standards, it's not even that big of a deal, but to me it was finger of God big. To me, it a Reese's Peanut butter Cup: all peanut butter and chocolate goodness.
So does history repeat? Did I wallow in the bittersweet? Not this time. There was a knee-jerk twitch. A desire to share, and no it wasn't the "In your face!" type share. It was the type of share that makes you dance a jig with friends and family. I don't jig, but man, I am fun to watch try.
I didn't have MyUnwife. I still shared: I shared with my friends and family. They were appropriately impressed. A few people even applauded in all the right places and did the wave. Those people rock.
So what about time healing all wounds? I guess if I didn't feel the pang of regret, then that wound is healing as it's supposed to. It's gonna leave a nasty scar, but scars add character. Chicks dig scars, right? Ok, so maybe time did nothing for the woomping head wound. I'm still a little incoherent, but the prognosis is good.
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