Hook, Line and Sinker

On my date yesterday listening to the Beatles band with a new guy I had the unfortunate experience of sitting directly behind my ex bf. For the purpose of this blog I am going to call him John.

John was charming and came at me one night a year and a half ago, saying, “I’ve been thinking about you!”

Eighteen dates later, we had danced, danced some more, then again, then gone for ice cream, more music, a lecture, more dancing, and more dancing.  Looking back, everything we did except for the first date (which was a wine tasting) was free or almost free. Make a note of that, ladies.

We did not get physically involved except for some stolen kisses in dark doorways for almost a month. Make a note of that, also, ladies.

I told John my sister was coming to live with me. He said we’d be a happy trio.

He promised all kinds of things. He overdid his PDA – public display of affection.  Noted.

As he came around to my place more and more, I noticed two things. He was always hungry. He never brought anything except bouquets of flowers – noted.

And day-old bread. Noted.

In June I went to Iowa to collect my sister and move her here. John picked us up at the airport. Good for him. The next day was my birthday. He didn’t show up to take us to an awesome surprise restaurant as he had promised.

He called the next day as though everything was fine. He said he’d had a migraine and couldn’t even call, he felt so bad. Are you writing this down?

Still, I wanted to believe he was real. I had just changed my whole life taking in my sister.  I gave him a chance to make it up to me.  John took Sis and me to dinner two nights later. He and I had a few dancing dates as I found people to come in and do home health care with my sis.

I asked John how often he got migraines. He said that one was his first one.

Here’s the thing. He stopped wanting to go out. He wanted to stay in. I wanted to go out because I needed to get away from my caregiver role and have a break.

I took John to a friend’s 4th of July party, along with my wheelchair bound sis, where he ran into a woman (friend of hostess), and their body language screamed exes. He told me one story. She told the hostess another one. I asked the woman to call me. She never did.

Then I found out that John was eleven years older than he was claiming. Then I found out that maybe everything he said or did was a façade. He was not who he claimed to be.

The real kicker is that he was secretive about his past, where he lived, about his ex-wife.  He was non existent on the internet after 2007.  My hairdresser found out his age by looking online, but that was it.

John and I danced through August and September. I was noticing a change in his behavior. He was drinking more, sitting around my house more, happy to be waited on and fed (not really waited on, but close enough to get my back up). He was drinking more and more than I’d seen him do before. I caught him rifling through my vanity drawers.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking for toothpaste,” he said defensively.

One night I had scheduled some home health care, but there was nowhere to go dancing. John and I ended up at the local watering hole for drinks and appetizers (by now we were splitting all the tabs, even though I am sure he would’ve let me pay the whole thing). He casually mentioned the migraines he’d had in high school.

“You told me the migraine on my birthday was your first one,” I said.

He backpedaled on his story, and I told him to sleep on the couch that night. The next morning I insisted he tell me where he lived and to talk to his pastor about it.

He didn’t, and he didn’t.

I called it all off. He disappeared for eight months. No one saw hide nor hair of the guy through the winter or spring.

Now John is back in town, with a new two-day-long victim. She wears a lot of jewelry. I hate to see what he’s doing, because now I know the whole thing is an act. The guy is homeless and is working his way into a new woman’s house, kitchen, purse, and bed.  He’s good at being charming and good at playing up his image as a business man with one more deal right around the corner.

I’ve seen John a dozen times since he’s come back to town (since we both go to live music). He has not once asked me about my sister, the one he pretended to care about. But then again, I haven’t been too chatty. I don’t want to hear any more lies from the guy.

Seven months of them was enough.

Couldda Wouldda Didda

I got out in the nick of time, before John moved in for the winter.

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