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The Invitation – Part 8

The LumberjackBased on Bonnie’s biased opinion, she failed to convince me that giving him my phone number was a mistake, however, I may have persuaded myself to forget about him when I thought back to the last few guys I dated, and reminded myself I was trying to break bad habits like this.

Alex, with his premature salt and pepper hair, always looked fabulous in his business suits when he’d meet me after work, but when his friends started hitting on me because of the stories he’d told them about us, I decided the maturity level applied only above his scalp. Michael asked me out and I liked that we saw plenty of movies together on our early dates, but once we started sleeping together, his choices in movies changed, too, and although I tried to be a cool girlfriend and watch them, I ended our relationship when he insisted we recreate them.  And then there was Jason.  He fooled a lot of people.  Shame on all of us.

My coworkers often liked the guys I dated, asking that I bring them along for Friday happy hours or company picnics. A free round of drinks later and everyone adored my boyfriends and wanted to be me, but I didn’t bother to tell them about the levels of despicability some of the men I dated thought they could drag me.  Or force me.  Perhaps Wyoming could help me erase the filthy underbelly of my life with more promising experiences and rewarding adventures than leaving me to dwell on the Alexes and Michaels and Jasons of my past.

My questionable choices may have resurfaced by giving my phone number to the Lumberjack, but for once my co-worker was telling me how rotten and unsavory a guy was. I wondered if I should heed her advice, however weakly it was acquired, or try the opposite approach of dating guys my coworkers dislike.  At the least, I should find a way to confirm his true character for myself.  In truth, I ought to follow my original plan and focus on getting settled and enjoying the beauty the state offered as a solo explorer.  But for now, I couldn’t rescind my actions, although I suppose I could always screen my calls.  As it turned out, there was no need to worry.  He never called.

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About Pam Portland

For a decade and a half I worked behind a series of desks, peeking out from around my computer monitor. Seeing the United States in bits and pieces wasn't enough to satisfy me, so I am grabbing my virtual pen and taking flight. Welcome along!

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