The final stop is pulled

In my years of relating to the opposite sex, I’ve been one of your more staunch commitment-phobes. Coming out of a busted up home with an indifferent marriage for a role model, I was an easy and early recruit for the adoption of that swinging bachelor lifestyle. Well, that stuff is all fine and good when you’re 27 and filled up with the smell of your own hair, but later on, it becomes clear that some adjustments to that “ever-rambling” philosophy are in order.

Recently, my beloved gal pal of many moons finally got fed up with my rather slack and inattentive behavior, and decided to move on and look for a more satisfying situation. In the past, when similar crossroads were reached, I would agree to say adios, and after a brief but appropriate period of sadness, look forward to moving on to the next affair d’amor. But this time around. it’s different. Much different. Yeah, the ole Lone Wolf has been surprised to find that he’s feeling very definite about the fact that the last thing he wants to do, the very last thing in this world, is to say adios to this perfectly splendid woman. Chances are good that what I’m about to do won’t do a darned thing to stop her train from rolling down the track. But I dare not assume that to be the case. Making lame assumptions are partly why I’m now in the jam I’m in. So here goes; it’s worth a shot, even if that shot is one in a thousand.

“Sweetie pie super babe, I am beseeching you to come back, to be with me again, and give me the one last chance I need to show you how good things between us will be once we’re finally on that hallowed and golden ‘same page.’ I know you’re skeptical, and I understand. But, honey honey honey, without the essential balancing force of your yarmonic yin-ness, the crazed chaos of my yonzonic yang- ness is poppin’ light bulbs in my head and transistors in my heart. So please, baby, please, give me one more precious chance. If you are kind enough to consent to my request, I predict that things will mesh so well that we’ll soon experience moments of spontaneous levitation. Or, at the very least, we’ll hop around a lot.”

OK. That’s that. I hope she sees this column, and I hope it makes her want to streak over to my house and do an old country jig of ecstatic reunion. (If this was a Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan movie, this corny little stunt would actually work.)

And gents, if you’ve been taking your sweetheart for granted recently, take a quick soul search. Ask yourself if you’re prepared to lose that woman. Should your answer be no, realize how fortunate you are you have the time you need to do something about it. If I had stepped up, pulled my head out, and taken care of business just three months ago, I wouldn’t be stuck in the soul-zapping psychodrama in which I now find myself. If you still want her in your world, you’ll know what to do. Then, make damn sure you follow through, and then follow through some more.