Sunday, August 9, 2015

The Widower and the Candy Store

If you are reading this it's because:

1. You are lost and meant to find another page

2. You are bored out of your skull and will do anything to avoid working.

3. You are a man whose wife has died, and who has not remarried.

If you meet these criteria, and even if you don't, then you are in the right place. If you are still confused, ask yourself these questions:

Did you have a wife who died? (Preferably not by your own hand) 

Did you remarry?

Again this information is specific to widowers but anyone who is going through the grief and pain of losing a loved one is also invited to read on. For some reason it hurts less when I laugh, so I try and laugh, and write when I can. Also, this is a place for men who loved their wives. If you are happy she's gone, go read something else, somewhere else. 

During the 93 days I had a Facebook account I learned a lot of things about friends and family that I not previously known. I heard about births, deaths, tragedies, and just every kind of message that could be conveyed from one human to another human. It was very illuminating. I tried it for 93 days because my late wife Ruth said that if you really want to know if something is for you, then try it for 90 days to see if you like it. 

One of the things I discovered is my 20ish nephew Ramon apparently does not know a female who owns any sort of wearing apparel other than a bathing suit of some sort. I remember those days, before being married, when every woman I knew owned at least a few bathing suits, but most of the time none of them would let you take their picture in the suit. 

The other thing I noticed is bathing suits have gotten incredibly small during the time I was married to my late wife for 21 years, and together for 23 years. Young women are also now much more likely to post a picture of themselves in a bathing suit on various social media outlets. Some even send the photos in themselves, seeking, I don't know what really.

As a husband I had heard tell of these women, and I was fascinated by the idea of such women. Now that I am a widower I am allowed to actually look at pictures of such women. Nay, these images are fairly shoved at me at a time when even glancing at another woman brings a bit of guilt with it. I tell you the life of the widower is filled with fun situations that you never thought you would ever have to deal with.

It's like this.

You live next door to a candy store. You live there for 23 years. For 21 of those years you own the house. Throughout those 23 years, you have been told, reminded really, to stay away from the candy store. You were told that the candy store was a place where people who ate the candy got sick and died. So you watched people go in and out of the candy store to no seeming ill effects, but you stayed away.

Then one morning you wake up, walk outside, and on the front of the candy store is a sign and in big red letters it says:

"Under New Management."

You as a new widower, who is also "Under New Management," meaning yourself, are curious. It's to be expected; you are a human man. You are also an idiot if you think you are ready to get married to a stripper from Elko named Rowena, 6 months after your wife of 21 years died. This will not only assure that you are going to die alone, you will also have no money either.

The first year after your wife dies, don't do anything drastic. New haircut OK. New stripper/hooker/hot mess girlfriend, not so much. Guitar lessons OK. Sipping Jack Daniels from a dominatrix shoe, probably not a good idea. I think you get what I mean. Everyone else who is letting Mr Happy do the thinking for you, well good luck with that. For the first year after the death of your wife, change nothing but your underwear and socks, and save yourself a lot of trouble.

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