Broken Man Critter Syndrome

 

Hello all, another chunter begins.

 

 

I was reminded by a reply to a comment from one of you about my first blog and made a mental note to have a chunter so here goes.

 

 

I have a guilty secret - well its not much of a secret really, everybody who knows me knows about it - I am addicted to broken men.  Indeed I am a leading exponent of man mending, if there were a medal for it I'd have a chest full and my chest is somewhat capacious.    

 

In spite of all the evidence of the impossibility of my endeavours I will seek to fix a broken man and can spot one at fifty paces.   I could sniff one out in a football crowd, luckily I've never been to a football match otherwise I'd be in even deeper soup than I already am.

 

Like some intrepid naturalist hunting for the rarest of creatures, I have heat seeking radar that zones in and damaged goods and, once I have one in my sights, my autonomic response is to begin foraging in my handbag for the invisible Salvation Army bonnet that so many of my ilk carry. 

 

I don't know what it is about them that appeals so much, they're usually pretty awful human beings but I am an addict.   Broken men are certainly no challenge, they're all over the place waiting to schmooze us into falling for them with their 'treat her mean, keep her keen' attitudes and studied indifference.   But I do have to admit, they are like catnip to menders, we sniff the air in clubs and bars for their scent, then once he's lined up in the cross hairs we shoot a coquettish glance in his direction and that is more or less that.

 

We talk amongst our friends and compare notes, do we like him, well, yes if our friends do.   Then we set about foraging in our bags to make sure we can snatch the bonnet and noise maker out at a moments notice....and we're off!

 

I have had many failed mends to my shame, like some sad campaigner I have a list with a large F for fail scrawled through their initials......dammit - that list is big!     I say shame on purpose, because in each case I should have known better.   I am notorious among my friends for having very poor taste in men people although my taste in earrings and accessories is par excellence!   My forays into romance have been resounding failures, although to my credit I never married any of my mistakes - phew!

 

Broken men are my catnip, in the beginning each has seemed to be ok, but as time passed on they each got arrogant and assumed that I would take all sorts of indignities...and I did up to a point.   I have known about ex girlfriends and wives, but, like all dedicated menders, I imagined that I could mend them when others had failed.   Consequently I have strolled to the edge of the abyss and jumped off head first, perhaps hoping that this one might be 'HIM', the one who it would be safe to trust.     Alas I haven't met 'HIM' yet, though  in the past I have met a couple of nearly men.  

 

Nearly men are much safer but I find their availability uninteresting, I want to win a broken one - well I did - these days I'd rather have a cup of coffee and forgo all that huffing and puffing, after all dear lady readers, there are only so many variations on a theme aren't there?

 

So, over the years there have been loves, nice ones too, but nice doesn't cut it for me, so they've been abandoned asap.    Then off I go in search of another bastard who is guaranteed to break my poor wizened heart.   I hand them my vulnerability as if it is an offering to a god and later they just sharpen it up and stab me with it.   I remember my last ex - with a large grrrh and absolutely no fondness - one day he blithely asked me why none of my relationships had ever worked ..... well they had until they stopped said I but he was too dumb to get it.   For him it seems a successful relationship ends in her telling him she'll always love him (as one pal, his former girlfriend did, and haven't we all said that to let them down gently as we cut them adrift?)   Obviously he was such a success that every woman he ever saw dumped him, including two wives and me after fourteen years, so if I were you I wouldn't be asking him what the secret of his success is!    That numpty (can you tell I don't like him?) is now trawling web dating sites and he's seventy and not looking so good.   I'm free so what do I care and I have a clean bill of health despite his philandering.

 

Oh do, please forgive me, I'm prone to a bit of a digress here and there but I do eventually get back on track - honest!   Broken boys are like broken biscuits, you can't tell what they're really supposed to be, they've lost their shape in some way and we menders think we can restore them when, truth be told, they were ruined by their mommies who loved them unconditionally and to the point that they expected the same from us.  Well, tough, I have put up with so much in the way of violence, insults and all round abuse that I have jumped off that particular merry-go-round and am now thoroughly enjoying my life.

 

Even menders eventually learn, our straight talking friends tell us to give up but we are nothing if not determined, we hold on as if our life depended on it and it takes years to realise that our life actually depends on us letting go.    In my invisible bonnet days I'd reach in put it on drag out the tambourine and run around the him on the day silently chanting my mantra - 'I can mend him, I can mend him!'   But now I know I can't and having faced that fact there is no bonnet or tambourine in my bag now, they have been replaced by a large box containing self respect and dignity and I don't need to do anything with them other than know that they are mine.

 

I don't envy you younger girls who are going through the bonnet stage and it is clear that at sixty eight I should have known better, but let me tell you all, there is hope and I can shine with my dignity and self respect safely gathered in as I have finally learned to love myself and understand that my heart is true, I just handed it to the wrong men.

 

Thank you for reading me my dears, I'll be back.....if you want me to be?