Thank You For The Douchebags

I’m not being sarcastic; I really am grateful for the douchebags, assholes, and scumbags of the world.

They’re how I wound up here.

A bag. For douching.

Let me back up: I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, about all those Frostian roads not taken, and how much worse my life would be now. Sure, of course, I’ve got The World’s First Perfect Child, and the creation of him was an accident of a thousand butterflies flapping their wings simultaneously, so of course I wouldn’t change a thing, because then he wouldn’t exist. Blah, blah, blah, every parent says that. How boring.

But more interestingly, I’ve been thinking about who I would have been if my younger self had gotten her way. And how deeply grateful I am to all the boys who treated me badly, broke my heart, or were generally morons, because if I had settled with one of them, I’d never have reunited with Handsome Husband, who is unequivocally the best partner in crime I could ask for.

I won’t mention his butt, because my Mom reads this blog.

Hi, Mom!

He puts Bruce Springsteen to shame.

My point is, every time it felt like my life was ending, like I would never ever get over this, that this person walking away from me was who I was meant to be with… well, thank the sweet baby Jesus they were stupid enough to not figure out how awesome I am. Because they were sub-awesome, and things would be different.

To the boy who didn’t notice me in high school: 

Okay, actually of all the boys that I had crushes on, you were probably one of my better choices. You seem to have turned into an upstanding person with a full life, and I’m so happy for you. But you live in Texas, which means I might be living in Texas right now.

That’s how I feel too!

To the first boy I ever loved: 

Good lord, where to begin. I don’t imagine in a million years I would have married you, and I’m 99% sure I actually would have been a pretty good influence on your life, but what kind of a monster would you have turned me into? I’m pretty sure my sense of humor, my values, and several of my most important friendships would have bitten the dust. Though now you’re rich, so I guess there’s that?

Then again, I do hear that money can buy you happiness…

To the boy I thought I was going to marry: 

I can vividly imagine our life together, and it would have been bullshit. I didn’t realize it at the time, but you were desperate for everyone to think you were cool. Your entire life was centered on being cooler. And while your definition of “cooler” involved reading philosophy and biking through France, you weren’t doing it just for the pleasure of learning. If Instagram existed you would have made fun of it and refused to join, but then hand-developed photographs from your travels and prominently framed them around our house so that people would ask you about them. In other words, my life would have been one of quiet desperation and hipster-ness, which sounds completely exhausting.

Hipster-ness is totally a word, by the way. Or it should be.

Basically, I dated a llama.

Anyhoo, after all that (and a bunch of smaller heartaches in between), I somehow stumbled and flailed my way into an amazing marriage to a person who’s a supportive husband, fabulous dad, and also a total geek. I can hear him giggling softly in the other room, and I’m pretty sure it’s about some sort of SQL joke. Or maybe it’s ironic outrage over the latest subpoena you’re sending back to the FBI with notes. Or maybe it’s because you just saw this again:

Our child’s entire first year of life.

No matter what though, you’re perfect for me, and I can’t imagine a life without you.

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