Live By The Sword, Die By The Sword

I can safely say that karma is a bitch. I can also say that in my experience there is such a thing as Love At First Sight. We both felt it the moment we met. That electrical charge that buzzes up the spine and says "Oh my god! Where have you been all my life?!" We talked about it later...years later, when we began a relationship that would last for several years.

We were both therapists so we met occasionally on a professional basis for coffee and catching up...which then became personal. As we shared the more intimate aspects of our lives, I learned that he was having trouble with his girlfriend. And frankly, he'd been having trouble with her for quite some time so it seemed likely to come apart any time now. (What woman with shaky confidence hasn't told herself that one a time or two?!) Then one day, after one of these coffee klatches, which he insisted on buying (and in the United States, many women consider that a date!), we wandered over to a local bookstore where we began flirting between the shelves. On impulse (one of the things I liked about him), he bought me a book. Of erotic poetry. Game on.

He began calling "just to chat" and sensing his interest, I invited him to lunch. (Not something I would ever do at this point - I like to think I've learned a thing or two - but in my mid-thirties and recently divorced, I took advantage of all of those perks that the feminists before me fought for to bring about the sexual revolution. Although I don't think it was their intention for those of us who followed to shoot ourselves in the foot with that hard-won liberation.) We munched on a savory repast and made love for dessert. We believed we had each found our soul mate. We sent notes in calligraphy to one another, cooed to each other over the phone. (I did not call him at the start, mind you. A girl's got to have her limits!)

Unfortunately, this love affair began as just that: an affair. You see, most married men I know refer to their spouse as "my wife" not "my real estate agent" and I did not even connect that the girlfriend with whom he claimed he was having so much trouble was in real estate. Man, talk about choosing to be clueless! And I'm a fairly bright cookie...but when smitten, meh...not so much.

By the time I actually realized he was married - to the real estate agent - I told myself I was in over my head. So was he. The perfect recipe for passion: attraction + obstacles = sexual tension.

The relationship fell into the category of "It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times" and endured his inevitable separation and divorce but started to fall apart when we became two rather than three. Not uncommon but I was hoping to be an exception.

I discovered he had a new "third" to stabilize our dyad as I helped him out, which I often did, with some work projects. An errant click on his computer's desktop opened a document with a sweeping "whoosh". An erotic poem written in first person about something throbbing as a result of something someone - and it wasn't me - was doing to him filled the screen.

Recent senseless arguments began to make sense. So did his introduction of me that morning to a colleague as a "work assistant". I hit the "X" to snap the masterpiece shut and never said a word. There was no point. All the confronting and arguing and attempts to dissolve our crippled union respectfully had left me too fatigued to carry on any more. I knew what was coming.

A few weeks later, he ended eight years over the phone. Over.The.Phone.

Next.

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