She was a morning person. I usually didn’t get up till noon. She was short. I was tall. Excessively tall. To the point that it was impossible for me to kiss short girls while standing up without having a real mean crick in my neck the next morning.
She loved to read, while I yearned for the days of book burning and wrote daily emails to various government agencies demanding the banning of books like “Catcher in the Rye”, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”, and “Oh the Places You’ll Go.”
She was my antithesis. I used to call her Bizarro-Bret. (She hated that. I loved it.)
We had nothing in common when we first met three years ago, but there was something different about her, something that brought out strange urges in me. It set my nose a tingling. At that time I thought it was love, and so we were married.
Now, looking back on the annulment, I realize that those urges weren’t love.
It was the urge to herbal.
Damn you Herbal Essences. Damn you and your pheromone-laced hair products.