People like to believe everything happens for a reason. Not necessarily a good reason, but a reason nonetheless. It brings some sense of calm and balance to the otherwise chaotic whirlwind that is called life. I'm not about to tell them otherwise. I could tell them about all the lovely twenty-six year old jogging enthusiast who died from ovarian cancer while her Uncle Herbert smoked a dozen cigars a day, drank two bottles of gin every other day and died peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty-five. It's not the least bit fair, and they would tell me that's the whole point. But all I have to say is either God or Yahweh or Someone Up There has a real sick sense of humor or I'm reading too much into it all.

Bitter pills to swallow and ironies. I've had more than my fair share. The day after my second divorce came through I pawned my wedding ring. While waiting for the clerk to write up the receipt I happened to look down at a display case and saw my now ex-wife's 2-carat engagement ring glittering under the glass.

I do believe that whatever the case, there are lessons to be learned, and Someone apparently believes I need a few refresher courses.


It was still early and we were both hungry so I made us a towering stack of buttermilk pancakes. My headache was receding, always a good thing. Maybe I could make it through the day without being keeled over by a migraine. Making it through the day would be an wonderful thing in my book. Maybe I should get out more.

"Have you heard from any of them lately?" Greg asked with an expression of idiotic innocence pasted on his face.

"Them?" I poured myself a glass of milk and filled up his.

"The women you were once married to."

"Nope." I answered, cutting off the single word as if my voice were a pair of scissors, hoping he would take the hint. As if he ever did.

"Why not?"

"Well," I began with a sigh, "they don't want to see me, for one thing. And I have nothing to say to them for another."

"Are you sure?"

"Why?" I couldn't help but be suspicious at this line of questioning. "Do you want your bed back, Greg? Are you starting to have some regrets?"

"No," he answered and wouldn't elaborate just to torture me for drinking his scotch. I knew I would end up paying for it one way or another and not out of my wallet.

"You never liked them anyway. Why do you care?"

"You're first wife was cute. And Julie had a nice rack..."

I choked on a piece of my breakfast and fumbled for the glass of milk. "Greg, are you finished–"

"No, I'm not,"he said, looking over his stack of pancakes. "You're right, I never cared for your wives. That's not the point. The point is why you suddenly don't."

"You've never been married or divorced. I don't think you can understand what I went through." The milk curdled in my stomach.

"Try me," he said stoically. "Are you suddenly having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder over your failed marriages or, for some strange reason, you wonder what they would say if they could see their ex-husband now."

"Julie found out," I said, suddenly wanting to get up and toss my breakfast into the toilet, "and she hates me for it."

"Do you hate her?"

"No. But I guess I can't blame her for hating me. I never told her and she had to find out through the grapevine. If the roles were reversed I probably would have done the same thing."

"Really?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

He poured more maple syrup over his breakfast until it looked like a big sticky lake. "You do realize that there is a difference between not caring about your wives and not caring about what your wives think about you. Do you think for a second that they give a damn what you think about them?"

"I know they don't."

"Then why is bothering you so much?"

"Because..." I began, then hesitated. "Because I was supposed to be there, I should have been there for them and I wasn't. I was having too much fun sneaking around behind their backs. And right now I can't promise that I won't do the same thing to you."

"I know," he said and continued to calmly eat his breakfast as if we were discussing the weather. "If you should ever find yourself in that situation you should take a step back and remember what happened the last time. I'm not as forgiving as Julie, you should remember that too."

"Can you make me that promise?" I asked.

"No, but if it ever comes to that, we'll see if I can follow my own advice."