html xmlns:og='' xmlns:expr=''> Lounging at the Waldorf: Inscription


Tuesday, March 8, 2016


An ex-boyfriend gave me a silver bracelet. Over the years, he'd had identical ones made and given them to those he held close to his heart: his mother, all his siblings, the girlfriend before me, and probably the one or ones after me, too.

It was a simple, silver, tube bangle with one portion flattened to hold an inscription. I don't recall what all the other inscriptions were but mine was, "Such precious love." Only problem was, he had the jeweler use a rather swirly script and it looked like, "Fuck precious love."

Oh, how I wish I was joking!

It was a doomed coupling from the get go and there was even a bit of bling to prove it - an actual accessory to the crime of wasting one's life in a situation that was never going to work.

Just in case you think I'm exaggerating, let it be known that every single person who saw it thought it was "Fuck precious love." They would go from head cocked to one side in puzzlement to, once I explained it, full throttle, open-mouthed laughter.

The ex did not like this at all.

"I don't want it to be a bar joke," he said, (well, whined, but I'm trying really hard to be the bigger person here).

And so I suggested I get it sanded down and re-inscribed.

"Then it will be too thin in that spot!"

I seriously doubted this was true. But he was an alcoholic and me ignoring the truth was more or less the foundation on which our relationship was built.

So I left the bracelet as it was and, not only that, had to wear it everyday lest his feelings get irreparably shredded or something.  After we split up, I stuck the bangle in a drawer and eventually tossed it. Here's the bright side of the story: it wasn't a tattoo!

Now, however, I wish I had kept it for it would make a most excellent contribution to the Museum of Broken Relationships.

This is a real thing, y'all.

It started in Croatia as a traveling, ever-changing exhibit making stops in cities such as London, Taipei, Istanbul, Sarajevo, and San Francisco, to name a few. Now the museum has two permanent homes: the original in Zagreb and a second location in Los Angeles is set to open May 2016.

They're looking for donations if you've got any. If I did, I would, but I don't. Which, until writing this, I thought was rather healthy. Now I'm realizing, I might be a little...intense.

No letters. No art work. No mix cd's. I'm like the USSR. When we're done, I erase you.

Stuff wise, my exes don't exist. But, too bad for me: I have the memories. I wish I could donate the memories. I wish I could forget.

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