The Two Lucy’s

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A little time for quiet mental reflections on emotional indiscretions.

A little time for mental reflections on emotional indiscretions.

Once there were two Lucys. One Lucy was too young and the other Lucy was too evil.

I used to add qualifiers to the first Lucy to explain who I was talking about. First she was Check-out girl at Minyard’s Lucy. Then when I found out how young she was, she became Seventeen Year Old Checkout Girl from Minyard’s Lucy. When she left the grocery store and made a career change  she became Stripper Lucy formerly Seventeen Year Old Checkout Girl from Minyard’s. Then she became Engaged Stripper Lucy formerly Seventeen Year Old Checkout Girl from Minyard’s. That’s when things became problematic. Stupidly, over the course of knowing her through her ups and downs and my relatively boring existence, I began to really care about and for her. She became engaged to an idiot and I did nothing to stop it. I should have been vocal in my feelings. I should have said something, done something. Instead, I got angry, depressed and even stupider.

I started dating the second Lucy. When I first met her she was living with an idiot. When I started dating her she had left him and said she “Just wanted to break someone’s heart. You know, to remind herself that she had control over something.” Huge red flag there that I gleefully ignored. Was it because of Engaged Stripper Lucy formerly Seventeen Year Old Checkout Girl from Minyard’s that I started a relationship with the other Lucy? I don’t know. I was crazy at the time. Probably certifiable in my desire to make sure Lucy had anything and everything she could want. I drove myself into the ground and eventually into the hospital because of that girl.

I was saved by my friends. I should write them right now and thank them for putting up with me in the months following my first broken heart. First damaged by Engaged Stripper Lucy formerly Seventeen Year Old Checkout Girl from Minyard’s and then by the second Lucy who had a habit of always cleaning but doing a terrible job of it. It became easier to simply call her the Devil’s housekeeper.

Finally, it became easier to simply call them Good Lucy and Bad Lucy.

About two years after I had gotten married I got a call from Good Lucy telling me that she was leaving her husband and that she had realized I was actually the one. That phone call could have probably gone better. Then about a month after that call, I got an e-mail from Bad Lucy trying to be friends and not understanding why I couldn’t stay in touch. That also could have gone better. She could never have written in the first place.

I have to mention that I am friends with one of the Lucy’s on Facebook. You can decide which one for yourself, but because of that I’ve changed the name to Lucy  from the real name. The only Lucy I’ve ever known is one of our cats. She has never broken my heart, but she did throw up a hairball on my pool table once.

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