I found this note the other day in a pile of old papers I was sorting through.
It was one of three lined sheets torn out of a small, spiral-bound notebook. The pages contained mostly unintelligible phrases in my handwriting. I say mostly unintelligible, because this message, this advice, came through loud and clear.
Stop sleeping with stupid men.
To whom did it refer? Who gave me this advice? Was it some sort of psychic reading? A discussion with a friend?
I read the pages over and over, trying to find some reference that would help me identify –at the very least — a time period in my life. My guess is that it was post-2004 but before I got back together my husband.
But who knows? It could have been any time that I was single.
A few minutes earlier I’d run across a photograph of me and my mid-1980s boyfriend, who was 10 years younger than I. I was 33 when we met. He was 23. I love that photo: I was young and gorgeous. And he was VERY cute. But he WAS kind of stupid.
On the other hand, I don’t think the note is 30 years old.
See, this is the thing I hate about my memory. It fails at some of the most inopportune times.
Wouldn’t you want to know why someone told you that?
Maybe you’d know right away. You probably would, right? But not me. I was single a long time and there are definitely some candidates who would qualify as “stupid” and “men” and about which that advice would be very good advice, indeed. Because for a very long time, brains were really unnecessary. Oh, I know. You’re surprised, right? Well, you’re only surprised if you didn’t know me back then. Brawn over brains was my rule.
But still, I’d love to know what that particular reference was about.
So, hey, if you knew me when I was single and you think you know to whom this advice –command, really–referred, spill it in the Comments. Feel free to have as much fun with this as you want (and here I am talking to a couple of my male BFFs…I know you’re thinking it, so just spill it.)
My old, fried brain will thank you for it.