Ten Reasons I Will Die Alone
My apologies, but I don’t have ten reasons I will die alone. However, I read that if you put a number in your post title you get more hits. There is a name for that: listicles (I feel like I should turn my head and cough). Sorry for the deception, but since you are already here...
One day they will find me dead, lazy-boy reclined, spilled glass of scotch by my side (hope it’s the cheap brand; hate to waste the good stuff), my NETFLIX queue empty, and the cat sniffing at my rotting corpse (wait, I don’t have a cat — how did he get in here?)
Whichever way I die there is one thing I know and that is I won’t be leaving a grieving widow behind. It’s not that my looks are repulsive or that I have a personality that sends women screaming off into the night (in my opinion). Perhaps fate does have someone in mind for me, but until that woman appears date night will consist of me, Johnny Walker, and my ROKU box (hey, my first threesome).
After my divorce I did not resign myself to a life as a hermit. In fact, I was on a lot of dating sites, that is, except for eHarmony. After hours of answering eHarmony’s profile questions I couldn’t take it anymore. Do you want to know what “my dream getaway” is, eHarmony? It’s to get away from you.
Thanks to all the other dating sites I had an active social life; dinner or drinks almost every night of the week. It was on those dates that led me to realize how easily people exaggerate their height, weight, age (myself included), and their uncanny ability to look good in either a cocktail dress or a pair of jeans. One woman I met on Match.com I dated for a year-and-a-half. Unfortunately, we should have broken up after six months, but that was my fault; I’m no good at breakups.
After the end of my last long-term relationship (on and off for three years), I decided I would stay in the off position for a while. Is it my age (soon to be 57) or the thought of going back to the daily meet-and-greet I find so depressing? I don’t have the answer. I wish I did.
Still a romantic at heart, I fully expect to turn a corner one day and meet the love of my life. My problem is I have to get out there to the corner in order to turn it.
For now it’s just me, scotch, and the ROKU box.
Not everyone is thrilled with this relationship. Members of my family wonder why I don’t want to meet someone (which is not true) and don’t I want to grow old with someone? Of course I do.
My brother Joe tells me that one day I’ll be that person they find weeks after their death because of the strange smell coming from the house. I assured him that would not happen. First of all, there are enough people that I interact with that would miss me if I suddenly disappeared.
“Where’s that fat, balding guy we used to see around here every single day?”
“Al? He’s probably dead.”
“Oh well — pass the salt.”
Besides, I have standing instructions with my friends at work. If I don’t show up one day, and I did not tell them in advance I was taking the day, call the police. When they break down the door that’s how they will find me: recliner back, scotch spilled, NETFLIX running.
Truthfully, I have nothing to complain about. I have my health (sort of), my kids are all healthy and happy and thriving, and I have a good relationship with my ex-wife. In addition, my child support payments will be ending soon (and so, I assume, will be my good relationship with my ex-wife).
Life changes every day — let’s see what happens next.
But I should go; if I’m not home at a certain time my ROKU box worries about me.
