Living Happily Ever After
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A Message

Date: August 7, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Did you ever walk into a room and forget why you walked in? I think that’s how dogs spend their lives” (Sue Murphy)

That’s how I’ve spent quite a few moments of my life.

I forget about things sometimes. Sometimes, even important things. That impulsive act of attempting to contact my birth mother, believe it or not, was no different.

Impulsively, I had done something huge; I sent a message to my birth mother and then…I pretty much forgot about it. (Either that, or such is the life of a single mother, the sole parent and support of four children, working full-time, busy, and tending to homework, housework, never-ending laundry, keeping track of the bills, and everything else. It’s easy to forget things.)

And then just as I’d forgotten about what I’d done a few weeks earlier, I got an unexpected message from Facebook:

“Oh my gosh! Are you who I think you are?”

My birth mother.

I NEVER expected that.

The message couldn’t have been more friendly, loving, and willing to share information. My birth mother even gave me her phone number and encouraged me to call. She was absolutely friendly and nice and welcoming!

I was stunned.

It was completely unexpected.

I had been prepared so well my entire life for rejection that I was shocked at not being rejected!

WHAT Have I Just Done?

Date: August 6, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“A true history of human events would show that a far larger proportion of our acts are the result of sudden impulse and accident than of that reason of which we so much boast.” (Peter Cooper)

Without thinking, impulsively, I wrote a message.

Something like, “So sorry to bother you, and I hope I don’t give you a heart attack, but I’m wondering if you would be willing to share some medical information with an old friend from 1967?” (I tried to make it vague enough that if a spouse or children or anyone else who didn’t know about the situation found it, my birth mother’s cover would not be blown. I hoped she would be able to explain it away as a mistaken message from a stranger or an old friend from college.)

Before I thought about what I was doing, I had hit the “send button.”

“A first impulse was never a crime.” (Pierre Corneille)

Right?

I looked at the screen, thought, “What have I just done?” and called my sister.

“You WILL NOT believe what I have just done. And if you didn’t think I was crazy before, now you certainly will,” I told her.

Can you imagine being my sister?

She’s had more than her fair share of phone calls and conversations with completely unexpected news from me this past year . And yet she is gracious enough to continue to answer her phone! She couldn’t believe it. Then she called me each morning the next five days to see if I’d heard anything back regarding the message I sent.

I never did.

My sister asked if my feelings were hurt. I said no. I figured the woman had built a life and possibly hadn’t told anyone about me and couldn’t risk ruining a lifetime. I didn’t blame her. Besides, the thought to contact her had come to me so suddenly, and I’d acted on it so quickly, I hadn’t gotten emotionally vested in the outcome.

Tina Yothers said, “I’m pretty bulletproof as far as being hurt.” And thanks to the many unexpected events of 2009, so was I.

I had simply felt I had to try. It hadn’t worked out.

I didn’t know why I’d had the idea, but I had done all I could do. The no response was my answer.

I carried on.

An Impulse

Date: August 5, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

In December of 2009, I was checking my email before heading to the office when I had an unexpected thought.

“You should find out your medical history. As the sole parent and support of your four children, you need to know all you can to make sure you’re here for your children as long as you can be. How irresponsible of you if there is something you should know that might help you (or save your life) and you don’t bother to at least TRY to discover it!”

I had a brief debate with myself.

I had been adopted as an infant; blessed with wonderful parents and an amazing family. My childhood was fairy tale-esque…until my dad died unexpectedly in a plane crash when I was a teenager, and the family I grew up in entered its unexpected life. It was another riches to rags story, in a way, but it prepared me better than I could have imagined for real life, especially for the the huge, terrible situation I would face as an adult.

My debate: was it right to disrupt someone else’s life just for a chance at obtaining a medical history for me?

But because if anything happens to me my four children will be orphaned until their other parent is released from his incarceration, I pushed the question of right or wrong out of my mind. I owed it to my children to at least try to find something out.

But how?

Although I was adopted in the 1960s, and adoptions were very private and secretive back then, I had an unusual situtation. Mine was private. And thanks to my mom, I had more information than most adopted children at the time.

My parents had been married nearly five years and were unable to have children. They had checked into adoption and even had the chance to adopt a baby boy prior to my birth, but when they went to see the baby my mom didn’t have a good feeling about it. She felt that baby wasn’t her baby. So she walked away from the opportunity to get the baby she had dreamed of.

In the meantime, my dad graduated from dental school at Marquette University in Wisconsin, moved to Phoenix, AZ, and opened a dental practice–in the course of three weeks. And then, unexpectedly, they got a phone call about me. Some friends of theirs from dental school had graduated ahead of them and moved to Southern California to practice dentistry. They became acquainted with an obstetrician, and at a dinner party, the doctor told them of a good, talented, beautiful woman who was placing a baby for adoption–and of his quest to find a good family for the baby. The doctor said he and his wife thought so highly of the woman that they’d considered taking the baby themselves, but in the end, decided they were too close to the situation.

My parents’ friends said, “We know someone to adopt that baby!” and put my parents in touch with the doctor. And within that same three week time period of major life changes, unexpectedly my parents were in the car driving to California to pick me up from the hospital. My mom said she walked into the hospital, heard a baby cry, and knew instantly it was her baby. She asked a nurse if it was her baby crying, and the nurse confirmed it. (I had just been given my PKU test.)

While waiting for my discharge, my mom asked the nurses everything she could about my birth mother. They told her the woman’s name, where she attended college, a general description of her appearance, and what they knew of her talents (that she was smart, athletic, and a dancer.) My mom committed it all to memory and I grew up knowing all of the information my mom had been able to uncover.

My parents took me home from the hospital when I was two days old–with a day at Disneyland before driving back to Arizona!

I grew up feeling very special because I had been adopted. In fact, I felt bad for children who hadn’t had that opportunity and privilege. I was happy, whole and complete. I had amazing parents and four siblings (all adopted after me). So although my mom always offered to help me find my birth mother if I had the need, I didn’t really feel the need for that. I had everything, and more, that I needed. I was happy. And grateful every day for adoption and the family I was blessed with.

As the only tall, blonde member of my family however, (everyone else, including my parents, is short and dark haired) if I had any unfulfilled desire relating to my adoption it was simply a curiosity about who, if anyone, I looked like. But seeing if I resembled another person on the planet wasn’t worth the risk of rejection OR disrupting someone else’s life to satisfy a question like that. So that’s as far as I ever went in the quest for a birth mother.

I looked so different from the rest of my immediate family, though, that in college when they came to visit me, a boy friend met them and said, “I bet you forgot to tell Andrea she’s adopted, didn’t you?” My mom replied, “No, I’m pretty sure I told her!” and he blushed like college men usually don’t–never dreaming I actually had been adopted. We all had a good laugh over that one!

Thanks to my mom’s detective skills at the hospital prior to taking me home, we had quite a bit of information about my birth mother. My mom discovered she and my parents had attended the same university in Utah, so one year, while visiting my dad’s younger sister in Salt Lake City, we took a peek at my aunt’s college yearbooks and found my birth mother. I then knew what she looked like.

Later, when I was married, I met a friend who was very curious about the whole process of adoption. She asked me about my story and, small world, found out her parents had gone to college with my birth mother! Her parents cut up their yearbooks and sent me every picture they had of my birth mother so not only had I seen what she looked like, I had pictures too.

The university produced an alumni directory listing names, addresses and brief bios of its graduates. Thanks to that, my mom and I knew my birth mother’s address too! NOT very typical of a private adoption situation that took place in the 1960s, for sure.

And then “suddenly” I felt the need to obtain my medical history for the sake of my children.

I decided that if I’d given a child up for adoption and if I wanted to be found (or was open to being found) I would put my name out there everywhere I could think of. Impulsively, I typed the name of my birth mother into Facebook. It was the only directory I knew of to begin the search. Up she popped. Full name, picture and everything. There was no mistaking it was her.

I wasn’t expecting it to be that easy or to happen that fast.

Now what?

What would you do?

There’s More

Date: August 4, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“The marvels of daily life are exciting; no movie director can arrange the unexpected that you find in the street.” (Robert Doisneau)

I’ve probably said it before but if someone had told me a year ago all that was in store for me and the life that would be mine today, I would have laughed at them. I would have thought they were absolutely looney. Completely crazy.

Such is the unexpected life.

I don’t think Hollywood could have scripted a more unexpected plot, antagonists (some of them) and twists and turns in a single experience, than I’ve been blessed with. And the one thing I can say for it all: it has been not only unexpected but exciting. (I’m not talking about the exciting, looking forward to Christmas morning kind of thrill; I’m talking the terrifying exciting of a heart attack-inducing roller coaster ride when the earth drops out from under you, you lose your stomach, scream and plummet unexpectedly to a new place on the track.)

I certainly never anticipated or would have arranged for the “excitement” that found my life. And honestly, the revelation of a Ponzi scheme and my divorce were just the beginning. There’s more to my unexpected life than a Ponzi scheme, a prison sentence, a divorce, re-entering the singles scene, stalkers, “starting over” in my 40s, returning to the work force full-time, and providing for and raising four children alone.

Quite a bit more.

Here it comes.

The Bachelor I Never Dated

Date: August 3, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Any scary story lovers out there?

If so, grab a flashlight and read this to yourself in your spookiest voice! I forgot to mention one man in my single life–then, in the 1980s, and now. Although I never dated him, seeing him again was completely unexpected!

When I was single the first time, there was a man around campus who turned out to be infamous among the college girls. He was tall, blonde, handsome, athletic, well-dressed, seemed like a total dream…unless you had the misfortune to date him. I can’t recount the girls I knew–roommates, acquaintances, friends who went out with him once and returned from the date with a different impression of him. They called him The Molester. (Coincidentally, it rhymed with his first name.)

Looking back, I wonder if any of them told anyone other than girl friends? I mean, I never dated him but I knew of him. I just never thought to wonder if anyone had told someone in authority who could help put a stop to his behavior.

Years later, as a married woman, I was talking to a friend about the good old days of college, experiences and stories of people we knew and she mentioned The Molester. She had dated him! She couldn’t believe I knew about him, knew his name, knew what he did, etc…(I’m telling you, he got around!)

So imagine my shock when I am at the first Sunday night meeting for singles I attended after my divorce and beginning my unexpected life (the one my pastor asked me to participate in because he thought the people there would be of a better caliber than those who go to singles dances!) and up the aisle walks The Molester!

I about fell off the bench!

He was a little bit heavier, and his blonde hair was a little bit darker, but other than that he looked so much the same I knew EXACTLY who he was. Twenty years later and he is still single (no surprise, there) but still walking around freely? THAT, I couldn’t believe!

I thought I had to have been mistaken.

There was a “hostess” sitting by me. (Hosts and hostesses are people who attend the singles functions and wear special gold badges. They are designated event helpers assigned to be friendly to others. They mingle, they help in any way they can, you can talk to them, ask them anything, they’ll introduce you to people, etc…) So I asked her for help. “Excuse me, but is that man ___?” (I named his name.)

She looked at me strangely and said, “I don’t know who he is, I don’t even know his name, but I DO know you should stay away from him. DO NOT get near him! And whatever you do, don’t date him! That’s all I know.”

I couldn’t believe it. Twenty years later and infamous for apparently all of the same reasons.

Later, at a singles dance, I saw The Molester again. He walked toward me, looked me right in the eye as he approached, and I stared right back at him. I knew who he was. In the middle of our visual exchange, a MAN near me walked over and said, “Stay away from that man. There is something wrong with him. He is not safe.” Protectively, the man stood really close to me (like a bodyguard) and stared at The Molester until he moved on to ask someone else to dance.

I guess that’s the difference between then and now. Even men know about The Molester now.

I never did date him. I must not have been his type. And in this new single life, I still haven’t dated him (haven’t even danced with him.) Thank goodness I’m not his type.

And THAT is the story of the bachelor I never dated.

A little spooky, isn’t it?

Ok. Turn the flashlight off. On to better things.

There’s another person I haven’t told you about. Meeting this person was VERY unexpected. But what did I expect living…my unexpected life?

Farewell To Joe

Date: August 2, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I have to take a break from the unexpected life, single scene, dating, dances, and men to pay homage to an important member of my family I’ve never written about.

Joe.

Our dog.

A gigantic white lab (more like a miniature horse) with the best looking dog face I’ve ever seen. In fact, when my oldest son saw the movie “Marley and Me” his only comment was that our dog was much better looking than the movie’s star! Our canine star, however, hated water, was afraid of a lot of things, but tried to protect us by barking a fierce bark (yet gave himself away with a tail that never quit wagging.) He LOVED all people!

When our world fell apart in 2009, and our unexpected life began, believe it or not, in addition to all of the worries I was trying to balance, I was worried about our dog. I didn’t know where we would be living (much less if our living situation would be conducive to a dog), I didn’t know what we’d be eating (much less if we’d be able to afford dog food) and I knew we really couldn’t afford a dog, but I just felt I had to do everything in my power to allow my children to keep their pet. They were losing everything else and as crazy as it may sound to some, I hoped and prayed, for my children’s sake, that they wouldn’t have to lose their dog too!

We were blessed to end up in a home in Utah with a fenced backyard. So my children kept their dog for awhile. And then Joe developed a health condition that had no guaranteed fix. Our only choice was to free him from the extreme pain he was in. And as the only adult in my little family, it fell to me to take him to the veterinary clinic that final time.

I have always dreaded a moment like that.

Just when I thought we were healed, we had to lose our Marley.

In the terrible moments of 2009, in the height of my despair and when there was nothing I could do but endure my pain, sometimes I just had to get away from my life. A couple of times, when it was THAT bad, I jumped in the car and drove the country roads near my old neighborhood. Sometimes I simply had to get away from the stranger I had allowed to remain in my home, quickly, and so late at night I’d go outside to be alone.

I’d sit outside in the pitch black dark and mourn my losses. I mourned the end of the only life I had known as an adult. I’d worry myself sick about the future and all that lay ahead. I’d cry. I’d pray. I felt more alone than I imagined it was possible to feel. And then, in the midst of the pain of my grieving (and wallowing in my misery) I’d hear a thump and find a giant white head attached to a wet black nose in my lap. Despite how I felt, another manifestation that I wasn’t alone.

Joe. There for me. In the literal and figurative darkness of my new unexpected life.

That was all I could think about as drove to the clinic and as I sat in the examination room the last few moments of Joe’s life.

My oldest son was with me too. As we sat in the room, he looked at me with tears streaming down his cheeks and told me how Joe had been there for him always, but especially during the terrible events of last year, when my son didn’t know what he was going to do or how our new and unexpected life could be his. He told me how he’d lay on his bedroom floor by Joe and cry. And how Joe had helped him carry on.

Boy, Joe was a busy dog. Especially last year. I’d had no idea all that he had been up to.

Joe was there for me. Joe was there for my oldest son. Joe was there for all of my children when they needed him. And in the end, although I couldn’t be there for him to miraculously save his life (like I felt he deserved after all he’d done for me), my oldest son and I were there for him as he departed.

Sometimes I hate being an adult and having to make adult decisions. But it’s a part of life.

Another unexpected aspect of my farewell to Joe was the thought of another person who flashed across my mind in those final moments. I couldn’t believe it. It will probably make me look psychotic, but this blog is my attempt to share the whole truth and nothing but the truth of my unexpected life. So here goes.

I thought of Him.

Shawn Merriman.

And this is what I thought: “I should hate him for putting me in this position. For making it so I have to endure this, too.”

I couldn’t believe it had been one year and He came to mind. You remember your former spouse at the oddest and most unexpected moments. At least, I did. And then, just as quickly, I pushed that thought out of my mind.

I went into this whole unexpected life determined not to hate and I still feel that way. I believe it’s the right thing to do.

Life. It’s unexpected. There’s nothing better. And yet, there’s nothing more difficult, at times, too.

All I know is that you have to keep looking for the good. You must keep counting your blessings. You have to forgive. You can’t hate. And you must keep pressing forward and carrying on, ideally, with a smile.

I Interrupt This Blog

Date: August 1, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

To anyone who grew up in the 1970s-1980s: Do you remember those tests of the emergency broadcast system?

Right in the middle of a good song on the radio, or a fun television show, the song would silence or the screen would switch to a rainbow of colors and that irritating beeping noise would fill the air! It lasted forever, it seemed (to me) and then the voice would conclude the whole ordeal by thanking you for your participation. (Like we had a choice!) Then the song or t.v. show would return.

I didn’t enjoy those tests. So I apologize in advance, but I have to do the same thing to my blog.

Get ready!

BEEP!

I interrupt this blog for a very important announcement!

My blog is a bit behind the “real time” of my life. I’m trying to catch up as quickly as I can to the present day. However, something very unexpected happened recently and I can’t not share it.

Last weekend I was at a Sunday evening singles meeting. I was asked to play the organ. Over the pulpit, the man conducting the meeting thanked Andrea Merriman for helping with the music. After the program was over, as I sat waiting for the crowd to disperse so I could leave, a woman approached. She walked toward me with a huge smile and said, “Andrea Merriman!”

I looked at her, trying to place her face. She seemed very nice, but not at all familiar. My first thought was, “This person knows me! Did I grow up with her and I just don’t recognize her? Is she a friend-of-a-friend I’ve met and I can’t remember?”

But before I could place her, she clarified, “Are you Andrea Merriman of…The Blog?”

I admitted my connection to andreamerriman.com, she smiled and said, “I knew it! When they announced your name I wondered if it was you, so I had to come and meet you! I love you!” She put her arms around me and hugged me. An instant friend.

Because of a blog.

She could not have been friendlier or nicer. She gave me her name and contact information and told me we are going to do something social, as friends. I can’t believe it! It has been a long time since I’ve been invited to do something with a girl friend!

I met a new friend!

After our encounter I realized a couple of things.

First, what an amazing world blogging is! How grateful I am for the connections we make through them. To stay in touch with friends, get back in touch with old friends, and even to connect with new friends we haven’t met yet is an astounding bonus of blogging I’d never imagined.

Second, for what seems like the first time since my unexpected life began, someone said my name, Andrea Merriman. And I didn’t wince, cringe in fear, feel sick to my stomach, or want to hide! It hit me after my new friend left that I’d “forgotten” to feel afraid when someone said my name.

Somehow, I’ve been able to let go of that part of Andrea Merriman. The part I was so ashamed of for far too long as I was thrust into my unexpected life. I don’t know how, all I know is it’s gone.

The healing power of blogging is something I never expected. I guess it has been my self-therapy. Maybe putting myself out there on my terms, instead of the media, Ponzi scheme victims and hostile former clients of Shawn Merriman doing it for me, has something to do with it. (Not that they don’t have a right to be angry, I’ve just never understood their passion for persecuting me because of the actions of someone else.)

So whatever the reason, all I know is that I forgot to be afraid to be recognized. I didn’t even think to be.

I am back to the old me, the original me–Andrea Merriman.

Ironic, that they’re both spelled the same yet the feelings they engender within me are so dramatically different.

So, sorry for the interruption. Thank you for your patience. I just HAD to share that I met a blog reader! In person! A new friend!

Very unexpected.

But such a thrilling aspect of…the unexpected life!

“Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.” (Carl Sandburg)

That night, that new friend, is certainly one of them.

Until It Happened To Me

Date: July 31, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

The second singles dance I went to I met a new (female) friend who was my height, close to my age, and was fun to hang out with. We had a great time and became instant friends.

I wasn’t the only one who liked her.

That night, the MEN, liked her too. Old men. They all looked like grandpas to me, but she was very nice about it. She got asked to dance every song by different men clearly older than us, and was friendly to all of them. She had the magic that night!

After each dance, she’d return to the sideline with a dinner date set with the previous partner. I bet she got asked out by five or more men that night! I couldn’t believe it.

Who has that happen to them?

I was concerned about the age of her suitors until she told me the man she currently had a crush on and dated was in his 60s–that after two failed marriages she was ready for a good, mature man. He was in her church congregation, she sat by him every Sunday, and they went out on the weekends–she was just frustrated that she couldn’t get him to only date her. Thus, she had gone to a singles dance to meet men. I give her an A+ for effort! I’ve never seen anything like that.

And I didn’t believe dances like that happened to single women…until it happened to me.

The next month I went to a singles dance with a male friend. I danced with him quite a bit, but every time he or I took a break, a senior citizen man would ask me to dance…and then during the dance, asked me to dinner on a date! I got three invitations from three men who had grandchildren the ages of my children.

When it came time to go home, two were hanging around offering to drive me home.

My friend I’d gone to the dance with and I sort of had a system. We dated, we even went to dances together sometimes, but we danced with other people too (if someone caught our eye) and when the dance was over we both hung back until the other one was alone and ready to go.

My problem that night, aside from all those senior citizens, was that my friend kept hanging back because men were around me and talking to me, and all I wanted to do was leave! It took him awhile to figure that out, but finally, he caught on to my desire to escape and we got to leave in peace!

The next couple of weeks I fielded lots of phone calls and dinner offers from elderly gentlemen, but in the end, I had to admit that the 55+ crowd was just a little old for me.

It was an interesting experience to have “the magic” for just one night.

I couldn’t help but remember how I felt heading into my single life, newly divorced, feeling like an old bag, sure no one would ever want me or date me or desire to spend time with me–and although the men that “magical” evening were way too old for me, It was very nice of anyone to say they wanted to spend more time with me.

In a way, though, it made me feel like a teenager again. Those lovely years of boys I wasn’t interested in calling me and asking me to “go with them” and me trying to politely decline. Those years of never having the boy I liked like me at the same time!

After a total life change I had to shake my head and laugh that apparently some things NEVER change: the magic never seems to strike the one you want it to–or you and the one you want at the same time!

It’s so true. “Just because everything is different doesn’t mean anything has changed.” (Irene Peter)

Bachelor #30: It’s A Too Small World

Date: July 30, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“It’s a small world, but I wouldn’t want to have to paint it.” (Stephen Wright)

I love Disney. Anything Disney. I love “It’s a Small World.” But Bachelor #30 made my world a little too small.

I met him online. And it turns out, he had grown up in the same area as one family of my cousins, and knew my uncle very well. Turns out he had also dated, had been “practically engaged,” to one of my good friends from Denver I’d known the previous 20 years prior to her marriage to the man I knew as her husband!

He was smart, interesting, introspective, thoughtful, fit, loved to dance, had a great job, a very nice extended family, one son, was a great father, and an almost overly cordial relationship with his ex-wife.

But despite how great he was, I had a couple of concerns.

First, his marital history. He had married in his late 30s (and would never actually reveal the exact age he had married; he always acted like he couldn’t quite remember how old he was–who doesn’t know how old they were when they married?) He was married less than 5 years and then divorced (and would never actually reveal how long he had been divorced; he always acted like he couldn’t quite remember–who doesn’t know how long they’ve been divorced?)

The fact that he was 48 years old and had really only spent 5 years of his life married concerned me. I didn’t think that demonstrated enough flexibility and history to take on a my family like mine some day!

Second, he traveled the world for work a lot. He was gone for three weeks to one month at a time. I was married to a man who had traveled for “work” a lot. I had spent a lot of time alone and decided the next time around, that I wanted something different the next time. (I’m not only looking for a partner for me, due to the circumstances of my divorce, I am also looking for someone who will be a father to my children. It’s hard to be that when you’re gone a lot of the time.)

And last of all, I felt our common associations made my world a little bit too small!

“It’s a small world, but we all run in big circles.” (Sasha Azevedo)

So long, Bachelor #30.

The circles are getting exhausting.

Bachelor #28: “Old” Blue Eyes

Date: July 29, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Blue eyes say, Love me or I die; black eyes say, Love me or I kill thee.” (Spanish Proverb)

I’ve never been a big “eyes” person. I think I was married to my former spouse before I noticed his eye color. But I noticed Bachelor #28′s beautiful blue eyes the moment I met him. With his dark hair, perfect white teeth and huge smile, you couldn’t miss them!

Bachelor #28 was a widower with one son. He was an absolutely nice, normal, friendly, outgoing, loving, wonderful man. He was also funny, successful, 6’5,” and handsome–everything I was looking for in lots of ways, especially the shallow ones! But we were different at the core; in our religious beliefs.

I was in over my head with Bachelor #28 for entirely different reasons than the Barracuda. “If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” I knew I wasn’t “tall” enough for this one.

But Dr. Seuss had the solution. “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know.”

I did know what to do. So I did it. I steered myself away from Bachelor #28. For my own good.

But those blue eyes.

“I picture my epitaph: ‘Here lies Paul Newman, who died a failure because his eyes turned brown.’” (Paul Newman)

May his blue eyes never “fail.” Bachelor #28.

However, I’ll miss his stories. He had one of the best I’ve heard.

We had some great and animated discussions comparing notes on who had been on dates with the most memorable people. I’ve held my own in those types of competitions (as evidenced by this blog) but I had to give Bachelor #28 the victory when he recounted a friend’s experience at dinner with a man she met online who showed up wearing a Superman cape.

Seriously.

He made an excuse about having just been somewhere where he had to wear it, yet he never removed it despite the fact his reason for it was over. He wore the cape throughout the entire meal and date. The woman was mortified.

Bachelor #28 verified it to be absolutely true, as well, when he told the story to another friend, a bartender in Park City, UT, whose face lit up with recognition. She, too, had met and seen the man (but never dated him) about town as well! She noticed him because he always wore a Superman cape!

I give.

I’ve met some memorable people, but no superheroes! (So far.)

Farewell, Bachelor #28.