Summer self-lovin’, happened so fast…

imageI’ll never forget that summer romance when I was 16. Neither can the girl involved, I suspect, except in her case it’s probably “Aaaagh! Why can’t I forget that summer ‘romance’ when I was 16!”

I remember everything being so intense and wonderful: that first shy meeting, the hot-and-heavy hand-holding, finally getting to second base, which in 1982 meant acknowledging that your affection had reached the next level, or “base.” [Editor’s note: This is not what “second base” meant in 1982.]

I’m too old and too married now for summer romances. Still, I miss the thrill. That’s why I’ve decided this year I’m going to have a summer fling with myself.

I can picture it now: I go out to my back yard to sit in my favourite lawn chair only to discover I’m already in it. “Oh, I’m sorry,” sitting me says. “Is this seat mine?” “No, please,” I tell myself, “sit. I insist.”

Overwhelmed by my kindness and suave beardiness, I begin to chat with myself, and instantly I feel a connection. I have so much in common. I like long walks on the beach, and I like long walks on the beach! It’s amazing, the chemistry, like I’m the same person!

“Maybe I’ll see me later,” I say.

“If I pass a mirror I will,” I reply coyly. Good looking and funny? I think I love me!

Later, I “accidentally” run into myself at the pharmacy. Except it’s completely embarrassing because I catch myself picking up hemorrhoid cream. “It’s for my eyes!” I explain, to which I reply, “Then I think I’m using it wrong.” I laugh, and I explain that, no, it’s good for reducing eye wrinkles, and I smile, neither I nor me realizing that a man worrying about eye wrinkles is kind of swishy.

The encounter leads to coffee, coffee to an evening stroll. As the sun begins to set, I tentatively reach out and take my hand. And I walk, hand in hand, talking to myself like I’ve been talking to myself all my life.

But then I go and say something stupid, like “So. How do I feel about Justin Trudeau?” And immediately I can see myself go awkward and inarticulate as I mutter about positivity and Canadian values but my eyes betray a deep wariness. I’m quiet after that, and when I reach my door, I try to give myself a goodnight kiss on the cheek, but I miss.

Later that evening, I get an email from myself apologizing for my behaviour. “It wasn’t me,” I write, “it was me.” Then I confess that I do have feelings for me and would like to spend some time getting to know me better.

After that, I’m inseparable. I spend every minute I can with me. When I’m apart from me, I’m just not myself.

Is there physical attraction? Yes, of course there is, but it’s more than that, almost spiritual. And the amazing thing is, I’m not even repulsed by my clusters of nipple hair.

I take it slow because I don’t want to scare myself off. “I’ve been hurt before,” I say. “I would never hurt me,” I reply.

Things progress. One beautiful, unforgettable night, I get to third base. [Editor’s note: I’m not sure what he means this time and I don’t want to know.]

Of course, it’s not all bliss and endless ice cream. At one point, I get angry with myself for giving up on “Breaking Bad” halfway through season two. And I have my first real argument about being so self-centred. “Why does everything always have to be about me!” I shout at myself. I agree, which only makes things worse.

The thing is, I both know it will have to come to end. This is just a summer fling. Once September rolls around, I have to go back to my own life, and I to mine.

Finally, the day comes when I have to say goodbye. There are tears in my eyes, and I cry a little too. I promise to write to myself, Skype with myself once a week, without fail. “Every time I offer someone a piece of ID,” I say, “I’ll think of me.”

I stay in touch with me for a while, but soon I move on. Life gets busy. Before long, I understand that what I had with me was special, magical, something I’ll never forget. But a little part of me knows that if I had spent more time together, I would eventually get sick of myself.

About rossmurray1

I'm Canadian so I pronounce it "Aboot." No, I don't! I don't know any Canadian who says "aboot." Damnable lies! But I do know this Canadian is all about humour (with a U) and satire. Come by. I don't bite, or as we Canadians say, "beet."
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44 Responses to Summer self-lovin’, happened so fast…

  1. Guess at some point you’ll get over yourself. 🙂

  2. Paul says:

    Ha! I call it the big Do-Be-Do. I look outwards for a while and then inwards for a while and then outwards again. These cycles can take years or decades.

  3. franhunne4u says:

    To have too much in common is not that good, either. What do you talk about when you know everything about yourself, how’s your day been, what you think? And a relationship in which both sides do not talk is doomed.

  4. pinklightsabre says:

    Bull’s eye, and that’s no bull. Would write more but I have a cat on me.

      • pinklightsabre says:

        I shooed her off because I got a notification but it was just you. No, really: this was one of the most creative things I’ve seen you do, I love being drawn into the depths of the gag and forgetting where I am, so to speak. Not enough coffee to be cogent yet, which is why I’ve started using that Schedule function on WP. Frees me up to just be bleary-eyed vs. creative in the mornings. The third base moment drew a snort I worried would wake the kids, and Dawn asked, “What was that?” Clusters of nipple hair.

  5. Hey come check out my new blog about mental disorders I just posted about AVID. If any one is interested.

  6. Ned's Blog says:

    This made me snort twice; I’m not normally a snorter.
    By the way, if you continue to stay in touch with yourself, please don’t write about that.

  7. Careful, I hear this is how Kanye got started.

    PS: 16? You know, a school photo would really add some verisimilitude. (rubs hands together diabolically and grins)

  8. Don’t give up on yourself baby.

  9. ksbeth says:

    ah, the summer of love, to be young and stupid with oneself again…

  10. Sheila Moss says:

    Is this the same thing as dissociative identity disorder? Of course, a lot of people seem to be in love with themselves these days.

  11. List of X says:

    Doesn’t your fling make your wife jealous?

  12. You’ll be drunk dialing yourself in no time. That always leads to reconciliation in any broken relationship.

  13. kirizar says:

    Its much better to have a whirlwind affair than to
    Have to put up with oneself for life.

  14. calahan says:

    Wait, was the hemorrhoid cream for waxing the ends of your mustache? That’s pretty suave, Ross. Not only will you look good, but you’ll smell so nice that you don’t need cologne. Good move, man. Good move.

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