Sunday, November 17, 2013

Palm Pilot

I got a palm reading the other day. I could say it was on a total whim, or that I don't really believe in that stuff, or that no baby I've never tried it before but with right guy I might be open to it, but that wouldn't be true. 

So the palm reading was not, in fact, my first foray into the occultic realm. Between palm readings, tarot cards, and aura cleanings I've spend a handful of dollars hoping for a glimpse into what my romantic future might hold. And while my little brother reminds me that this money could be better spent on pretty much anything besides crack, my most recent palm reader had an insight for me that I'd never heard before: she told me I'd already met my soulmate.

There was no need to flip through my mental Rolodex of exes, because everyone has "the one that got away." Not got 
away due to some sort of epic relationship fall out, or his arraignment hearing, or because he finally found the key to your sex dungeon, but got away because something, something small and nameless, in the relationship didn't quite work out.

Ladies and gentleman
I'd like to present my potential lost soulmate:

Yeah, I know, you can't tell me anything I haven't already told myself each time I renew my Match subscription. 

Okay, Universe, I get it. He is very handsome. 

We were college sweethearts. He never hogged the covers and let me dance on his toes. He taught me how to how to change a timing belt and I encouraged him to run his first 5K. I made him laugh and he fielded my crazy like Joe DiMaggio. 

But it didn't work out. Looking back there wasn't anything we faced that was so insurmountable that it couldn't have been overcome on our path to soulmatedom.

So maybe he isn't my lost soulmate. Maybe you don't just lose a soulmate like a misplaced sweatshirt that turns up in a Goodwill lost and found years later. Maybe it's sharing our lives that's more important than our souls. After all, if Merriam-Webster doesn't recognize soulmates, I maintain there's no reason for the rest of us to. Except when dealing with angry ex-sex. Obviously.