Sixteen years ago, today, my divorce from The Pygmalion was final. What I seem to remember most was how adrift I felt. For the first time in my life, at age 34, I was not under the aegis of some man. I was free to have my own ideas and opinions and to make my own decisions. I was terrified. I was on cloud nine. It was a scary new world.
Back then, my studio was in a warehouse in downtown Atlanta, about four blocks from the state capitol. I stayed with Marika that first night in April when I suddenly moved out, and Judy graciously put me up for a few weeks. I spent a couple nights in a sleeping bag in the warehouse. Then JuJu the Cat and I moved in with an actress acquaintance that needed a roomer, not necessarily ugly.
July 3rd, 1991 the actress asked if I wanted to go to with her the next day to her dad and step-mom's house to watch the fireworks on the TeeVee and to eat a great meal. I demurred; I didn't know what I wanted to do. She kept at me, and the clincher came when she said that her brother would be there (he'd just gotten into town) and that step-mom Frankie was a good cook. A really good cook.
The next day, the 4th of July, we drove from downtown Atlanta to the far flung suburb of Marietta (pronounced May-Retta.) The food was delicious and abundant. The brother was interesting. The man actually listened to me and he wadn't ugly none, not that I was in the market, you must realize. I remember remarking that my last husband would indeed be my last husband.
That man, that brother, was Sweetie. He was 27.
Two weeks later, I called and invited him to a movie and he agreed. He was delighted that instead of the current chick flick "Thelma and Louise," I wanted instead to see Arnold in Terminator 2. I remember that he paid for my ticket and opened all doors for me. What a guy! He kissed me on my door step (and lips) that night and asked if he could see me again.
There you go. Six months later, he moved in with me and on July 4, 1993 we got married.