When I sat down to flesh out this entry (flesh! I'm brilliant!) I anticipated that I would be writing flowery prose about the many suitors who've found me irresistible in my young life. Imagine my surprise when the list I made began to resemble a motley crew of artists and ne'er-do-wells, the likes of which would make you giggle your ass off.

Public school kick-started my affinity for the underdog when I grew very fond of Dave. He was my first kiss over the spinning bottle in my own basement. He hasn't managed to achieve much over the years but I could always count on him for a smile and a wink to brighten my day. Very important.

My Mom has gotten a perverse kick out of the strays I've brought home ever since I appeared over the 1986 March Break with Don. Not that there was anything wrong with him; he was an idealist with humungous visions of grandeur and remains that way to this day. Our timing was never right but our friendship has endured through depressions, joblessness, four assorted partners and one child. His voluminous handwritten letters to me still reside in the bottom drawer of my dresser. (Some things are more important than sex, believe it or not).

Gary couldn't stop giving me presents, but instead of raking in the loot and enjoying my food fortune I sent him on his way. His gifty ways made me so very uncomfortable I had no choice but to accept that my conscience wasn't going to let that happen. Spider trapped me in an elevator and forced me to listen to his badly written poetry while I clutched a rapidly-cooling bag of take out. I then had to come up with the words to let him down easily while he stood there, invading my personal space with his puppy love. I still feel a twinge of regret that I never looked him up in later years and apologized for my rather tactless behaviour that morning.

Michael was a hoot until he began listening and considering the poisonous whisperings of his older brother's treacherous girlfriend. What he turned into one fall evening in his livingroom should have put me off male folk permanently but then again, I never said I was very bright. I acted as his sexual mentor for almost a year and must say, I did one hell of a good job. I'm still waiting for thank-you cards from the women he's been with since.

Mike always made me feel like a little puppy, toddling after him for approval. One "atta girl!" from him would make my week and found me more than once working over the weekend in the darkroom at college doing his photog projects for him. His charisma was overwhelming and I should have learned from that experience that I'm gullible and easily led with only a small amount of positive reinforcement. It's only now as I approach 40 that I'm confident I own the tools to fight against those who would use me to their own ends.

Jim was the best kisser I've ever known. His full beard and 'stache was scratchy, covering his beautiful face and I let him know it. One Valentine's Day many, many moons ago I was invited to his house for more of a Day of Truancy than anything. He appeared at the front door clean shaven and bearing food. Who wouldn't fall for that? Eventually he swept me up in his arms and carried me upstairs to his bed. At that point he brought out a box of some sketches no one else had ever seen. They were quite a departure from the work he'd done at school, so I counted myself lucky that he felt he could show them to me. The next 'gift' was a copy of the local newspaper; when I looked at him questioningly, he told me to open it. Inside were the remnants of his beard, which I found to be absolutely endearing; others in my life have found it to be rather more creepifying.

Paul earned himself the nickname "Weasel", in that he held me in thrall, allowing me to spend a good thousand dollars on him over the course of a summer. Money like that doesn't come easily to a college student and I've kicked my ass repeatedly about that over the years. His name is a name you don't speak in my house - calling him a poor influence on my still-developing character would be an understatement. The best memory I have of that schnook was the early Sunday morning when, still out from the night before, he took my hand in a donut shop and we danced to the musak. I often wonder where life took him and what mark he moved on to after myself.

"There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it." --George Bernard Shaw

Stephen danced in and out of my adult life, dangling the carrot of happiness in front of me, then snatching it away. I have a blind spot the size of Montana when it comes to that man; my preference for emotionally distant men is certainly a curse.

It's at this point we reach the present and The Boy. I'll keep schtumpf on him at his request but let me just say I feel safe and secure with him. We can share a laugh and a cuppa and be perfectly comfortable in silence. I would have to say that, aside from his terribly cynical side, he is the best-equipped to deal with the mess that is me.

Let's hope our child inherits those special gifts.

Posted at 7:17 a.m.