I was drinking a beer in a
working class bar in a little West Texas town on the way back to Dallas and
got to talking to a tall, blonde woman working behind the bar. She had been
very pretty once and still looked good in a hard but sexy way. It was early afternoon, and I was
the only customer at the bar. We somehow started talking about exes. She said
her last husband never had a happy day in his life after his first wife ran
off. He was an alcoholic, but she hadn't known it until she started living with
him full time. The marriage was doomed from the start.
"I should've knowed
better, but married him anyway," she said.
“What the hell is
wrong with you?” is what I used to say to my first wife all the time. She liked
to‘ve driven me crazy. The girl was inherently unhappy," I said.
“I bet you asking her
“what the hell is wrong with you?” didn’t help much,” she laughed.
“No.” I laughed. “I was
too young to understand how to deal with her.”
“You think you would be
more supportive now?”
“No, but, at least now,
I would say, “I understand how you feel that way, Darling.” I laughed.
“That is a major
improvement,” she said.
“Well, in my mind it
means the same as “What the hell is wrong with you?”, but it does sound
better.” I laughed.
"You want
another'n," she asked pointing at my empty glass.
"I would. I'm
enjoying the company," I said.
"Me too," she
said.
"You're a very
pretty woman," I said.
