Elise commentary: From a toad to a king

Some people have to kiss at least a few frogs until they find their prince or princess.

I don’t know about you, but I kissed so many frogs in my single years that it’s a wonder I don’t pull my eyes down into the roof of my mouth when I swallow, and that I don’t have elongated ankle bones, webbed toes, claws, large eyes, and warty skin.

There was the ex-fiancé (emphasis: “ex”) who left me stranded at a gas station in Canada after an argument when we were driving cross-country from New York to Seattle. He was even driving my car. AND I didn’t have a suitcase! OR money!

Another ex-something complained that I did not throw pizza boxes away appropriately. Did you know that you are supposed to cut them up into tiny pieces before tossing? That was new information to me.

A very handsome, smart and witty potential boyfriend failed to tell me he was married until the third date. My fault for overlooking the no-tan circle on his bare left ring finger.

A couple of the exes were downright creepy: one young man walked all the way from the middle of town to the airport in the rain as I was leaving for California, the first leg of my journey to teach English with the Peace Corps in South Korea. We hadn’t even dated, but he wanted to see me off in a dramatic way.

Another oddball stalked me by putting different motorcycle trophies on my door step. These unfortunate “presents” continued even after I moved to the other side of town in Seattle. At that time, my car was unique; it was a rusted old land-yacht Ford a nice priest had sold to me for $300. I suppose I was easy to find.

Blind dates were particularly memorable, and not in a Hallmark movie way. A friend set me up with a former judge for a dinner date. About half-way through the meal, this gentleman announced that I would be better suited for the guitar player at the country club than for him. Ouch. Post script: I did go out with the guitar player and spent 3 hours listening to him talk about all of his girlfriends from the third grade on.

Yet another blind date appeared to be so disappointed when he saw me that he didn’t utter one word (aside from ordering food) at the restaurant. Things got so uncomfortable that I finally worked up the nerve to say something like, “it’s obvious neither of us is having a good time.” I’m proud to say I left enough money on the table to cover my meal.

None of these chaps include the chain-smoking radiologist who sprayed his car with oven cleaner to try to cover the smoke smell. Nor do they mention the fellow in Finland who wanted to marry me so he could become a U.S. citizen.

There was the guy in college who was so in love with Farah Fawcett that he had his dorm room plastered with her picture. I learned more about Farah in a month or so than I learned about my “boyfriend.”

College also included the very interesting and smart lad who told me his parents would disown him if he brought a “Shiksa” home for Thanksgiving.

Perhaps the coup de gras was the brilliant, funny, handsome, talented young man who stood up in philosophy class at Amarillo College and blurted out that my answer to the professor’s question was the most illogical and idiotic words he had ever heard.

But wait, dear reader. It gets better. I ended up marrying that man, which may just go to show that some frogs, as opposed to most others, love to be handled, don’t need to be camouflaged and don’t sit still in moist places, like under a rotting log, in a muddy place, underground, or in the crack of a rock.

Keep using Chapstick. It will come in handy the time you kiss your last frog and become part of love’s royalty.

This article originally appeared on Amarillo Globe-News: Elise commentary: From a toad to a king