Strike Three - Meet Mr. Sunshine With a Chance of Pain

This time around I stepped up to the plate knowing I was going to strike out, thus I chose to go down looking - scoring a backwards "K" on marriage number three. I watched the ball whiz past me without one consideration of taking a swing at it. Actually, I knew no matter how good the pitch or perfect the swing, this was not going to be a home run, double, single or even a fielder's choice. Perhaps I could have connected for a sacrifice fly but I didn't; for when you hit the ball on a sacrifice, you are still out.

I locked myself in my hotel bathroom to avoid making eye contact with my girlfriends. These two had traveled from Oklahoma and Texas to support me and I was hiding from them. I didn't want them to see I had cried off my carefully applied wedding makeup. I didn't want them to hear me and bang on the door. I didn't want them to realize how much I didn't want to get married that day. I was afraid they would encourage me to suck it up, get dressed and get out there. After nearly seven years with this man, I was done, so very, very done on the day we got married.

This is the story of Mr. Sunshine with a Chance of Pain.

Mr. Sunshine seemed to have his feet planted firmly upon God's green earth but as I began to really know him, I realized his head was spending far too much time in the clouds and his vision was always marred by the bright, golden sphere he so often seemed to be chasing. As interpreted by this rendering, he would clench his fists and don a briefcase, preferring to make his mark by making a million or making a name for himself rather than making a living.

My mom, God rest her soul, was the first person to see this. She came to visit us the week we got married. She watched him practically skip out the door one morning while whistling a happy little tune. He was leaving us with three young kids and a house full of boxes. We had just moved into our new home days before. There were projects everywhere, babies crying, madness and mayhem; yet, off he bounced to his sales job saying something about making the world a better place one sale at a time.

Mom turned to me in her dry but always pleasantly blunt tone and said, "who's he think he's foolin' with that shit?" God how I miss that woman's way with words.

She was right. I knew it and eventually even he came to admit it. It was all an act to cover up one scared, insecure young man who seemed to suddenly wake up and find himself with three kids, a wife, a house, an enormous pile of bills and not a chance of sun in sight.

(To be Continued)