This weekend, I learned of the death of a woman I dated for a few weeks several years ago. I've mentioned women I've dated, usually for comic effect, but this is a story that shows a side of me that I'm not sure I should make public. That's been a subject that keeps coming up in social media: just where do you draw the line on privacy? I've become annoyed at people who try to make their lives sound idyllic, essentially publishing continuous versions of those dreaded Christmas letters of "shiny happy people" where the truth lies in the things they don't mention. Endless self-promotion and thoughtless regurgitation of other people's political comments are the other legs of bad social media. Most people, once those things are removed, end up just showing pictures of what they ate.
So, here goes...
|The best photo I can find. I love that expression.|
|For the geneticists: I could diagnose her by her fingers in this photo.|
Mostly though, it was the internal things where we differed. Different tastes and styles (she proudly called herself a redneck), different backgrounds, philosophies, views. When you got down to it, I had to like her mostly because of how she looked (and her attitude; she had a great personality - you'd have liked her, too - but she did have a strikingly attractive face). I've dated a number of women at or under 5 feet, which officially makes me a "tiny chaser." I said this gets dark. There are some very disturbing types who are interested in little women - pedophiles, control freaks - but you have to remember what I've said here before: I can't recognize people. I could pick Angie out of a group and that was enough... for a few weeks.
Hers was a tough life, though she wouldn't want you to think that.
|She was proud to be able to drive a standard-equipped car (with a few pillows).|
There's nothing happy to report here. Not just now.