The good is oft interred

A couple of weeks ago, Google handed me a Skirt! magazine questionnaire completed by my ex in October 2007 shortly after I’d relocated from Columbia to Greenville. I’d just bought her share of the Wheat Street house we’d owned jointly since 1999, a transaction which was, for us, the equivalent of signing divorce papers.

Some of her answers to the Skirt! questionnaire hurt my eyes a bit, but to be honest, they could have come from either of us …

• The one item that has changed my life: Bill of sale for my half of a house.
• The best thing I ever won: My freedom.
• The worst idea I’ve ever had: Staying quite as long as I did with my significant other.

Well … ouch, of course. But I can’t blame her. And I don’t. I’d spent the last chunk of the relationship wishing it would end and very likely playing every passive-aggressive trick in the book in an attempt to get her to do my dirty work for me, breakup-wise. I was performing at Dollywood, unhappy with Pigeon Forge and complaining to her by email about the lack of passion in our lives, when she picked up the gun I’d been nudging toward her and shot me right between the eyes.

In retrospect, I can see that it was a clear-cut case of assisted suicide … so thank you, Janet, for putting us out of our misery. And please accept my apologies for the delay. (To read the entire Skirt! interview, click here.)