My least favorite question, "How many times have you been married?". I smile and say, "four", There is silence and then the questioners facial expression runs the spectrum from amused to appalled. Suddenly I want to explain that at first I thought marriage was like leagally going steady or that I chose unwsiely a few times. But I don't. How do you explain 4 marriages? Throughout these postings I will try.
I do not use my husbands names. I refer to them as:
Husband number 1 - Who?
Husband number 2 - Oops
Husband number 3 - Elsie
Husband number 4 - Current
Let me address Current first. Rest assured Current is my last husband. He is an awesome man who does not deserve to be any one's fourth husband. He is the polar opposite of Who, Oops and Elsie. Living with me may not be the easiest thing on earth. Words that have been hurled at me by former husbands include selfish, spoiled, stupid and some words that I won't print but rhyme with pitch and bunt. Current thinks I am wonderful, funny, smart and talented. Current believes that he is the luckiest man on earth. Poor Current, imagine what a pitch his last wife must have been.
Ok, here is the first confession of a serial marrier. I hang my head in shame when I say that I married Who? because I was in love with his brother. Who?'s brother was my first love. I will call him Paul. I was 15 years old on January 1, 1969. A typical New Year's day at my house. My dad and brother were watching the college games, mother was recovering from the "flu", (this was actually her once a year hangover). I was in my room with the door closed dressed in the hostess pajamas that I had received for Christmas. I had actually gotten up and painted my face with my other Christmas present - make-up. Used my electric rollers to achieve Nancy Sinatra hair and was now thoroughly bored. My mother opened my door and said with a worried look, "there are two boys on the front porch". This was the best news I'd had in a while. Who was it? Why didn't they ring the doorbell? I sashayed down the hall to the foyer and opened the door.
Indeed, two boys were on the porch. Actually one boy and a college man!, Paul. Paul introduced himself and his brother and explained they had moved up the street just a few months ago and were out taking a smoke break and decided to sit on the porch and finish their cigs before going home. I didn't actually hear any of the words as a band of heavenly angels was singing in my head and a glow seemed to emanate from Paul. Holy cow, he was gorgeous. I am not sure how I managed the next maneuver but I got past the parents, down the hall and into my bedroom with Paul and his brother. This was forbidden. Boys in the bedroom led to pregnancy and worse my mother assured me. I could get a bad reputation. "Psst, Bobby did you know we can get in Lillybell's bedroom", "yeah, she'll let anyone in there". I ran the risk. I remember we rearranged the furniture in my room and made some sort of conversation. I believe they talked and I giggled. Paul was still glowing and I thought he winked at me. Jesus, please let it be true. My feet seemed to float just above the ground. I was thunderstruck with this man. Paul was talking-something about college, Austin, California, existentialism, blah, blah, blah and I was imagining the feel of his mouth. French kissing suddenly didn't seem like a rumor - or disgusting.
At this moment the door flew open and there was mom. I know she expected to find me spread eagle on the bed with a tip jar on the headboard. She announced, "Lillybell is not to have visitors in her room and she needs to spend some time with her family. You should leave". The guys said goodbye and this time I know Paul winked at me. I lived on that wink for days. My mother chastised me severely for having boys in my room and reminded me that nice girls would never engage in such behavior.
I considered this statement momentarily. Nice girls sounded boring. And so it began I was on the path to marry Who?. Do you know the words to the wedding march? "Dumb, dumb da dumb..."
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