I am the bride left at the alter. I’m sitting here, in my Vikings jersey, cradling a can a Coors Light, and thinking about what Might Have Been, reliving what went wrong. We lost today. The Vikings lost. Two in a row. It’s getting rougher to cheer, the triumphant words getting stuck in my throat. But, we must move on. The next game is a blank slate. We can begin again.
I’m moving on like any sane woman would: by watching a movie about polygamy. Yes. Thank you, Lifetime TV. Nothing heals an open wound like a movie about multiple wives and a foreshadowed murder. Sweet, sweet catharsis.
I feel like I developed a relationship with my weekend. The Honeymoon Phase started with a late afternoon nap on Friday, and concluded with an early afternoon nap on Saturday. I was gently (abruptly) awoken by the appearance of Geo and his dad at our front door, after a round of golf. Me + snoring nap on a recliner = where’s my time machine? Gah!
Oh well, the relationship moved on, steadily. Reliably. I ran my errands, wore my sweatpants, neglected to brush my hair. Still, the weekend was good to me. Then came Temptation. I spent a night at Liz's drinking wine and envying every last detail of her perfectly-designed new apartment. I came home feeling like a frat boy. The mismatched furniture, the dirty rugs, the framed posters of celebrities hung at odd angles. I thought I wanted more. But I bought Swiffer dusters, I reorganized book shelves, I moved books around. The whole house smelled like 409 and a Clean Linen scented candle, and I felt better.
After the rush of temptation passed, the weekend and I moved into experimentation. Geo and I visited a coffee shop this morning that I had never been to. We bought gooey cinnamon rolls, something called Puppy Dog Tails and black coffee. I was glad for the new experience.
Alas, after the utter disappointment of the football game, I realize I must cut my losses. I’ve decided to officially break up with the weekend, and move on with my life. Our relationship has run it’s course. And now, sitting here in my Vikings jersey, and watching the droplets of condensation on my beer can slip onto the coffee table, I know that this was not meant to last. You know, we had our ups, our downs, our tests, and our triumphs. But I must move on. I am in search of something greater. A week-long vacation, perhaps. I want the Real Thing.
So, I welcome this coming week with open arms. We are defined by our past relationships, and this weekend has taught me that complacency does not a perfect weekend make. Sure I may have spent the majority of the weekend in a ponytail and sweatpants, but I wasn’t ready to give it my all. Next weekend, maybe. Maybe next weekend will be The One.