Lothario

It’s true. I coulda have been a contenda, I could have been someone. Instead, I’m running for my life! Oh, if I could only undo the error.

I had broken up with the girl of my dreams, and instead of tossing myself onto the rocks, I tossed myself into the arms of a series of short-term relationships. Alma, Suzette, Jena, Karen and Claire. It was wicked, and I loved every moment. My Ex called wanting to reunite. I chortled and told her of my excesses.

A few of my friends staged an intervention. Over coffee one morning, they warned me that I could not keep up with the physical demands. I insisted that it was a great sacrifice, but I was willing to make it. As the aroma of fresh coffee wafted about, I was warned that it wouldn’t end well.

Then, through casual correspondence, the girl of my dreams met Jena, who then contacted her friend Maria, who knew Alma. Before too long, there was another intervention, of a less pleasant variety. Soon, I made other sacrifices I was less willing to make.

Afterward, there was an awkward period where I couldn’t find a girl who’d date me. The terms Lothario and Lecher were bandied about.

I’d learned my lesson. Don’t let your girlfriends talk to each other.