In hindsight, there were warning signs. Before I’d even gotten home from our first date, he’d already messaged to say he’d enjoyed hanging out “alot.” After we moved in together, I’d sometimes come home late, and he’d angrily tell me that I “could of” at least called.
Everything was always “me, me, me” with him, even at my birthday dinner, when he gave a toast that opened with, “Karen and me are so happy everyone could make it.” I tried to ignore the naked concern on my mother’s face and the way she reflexively rubbed her eye as if to telegraph that he should have said “Karen and I.”
I told myself things weren’t that bad. After all, he always thoughtfully signed cards to me and never too me. And he seemed to understand how important it was to use there, their, and they’re correctly…mostly.
When my mother, an English professor, expressed reservations about our relationship, I shut her down. She said he had a possessive problem. I countered that many people struggle with possessives and apostrophe placement and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
I tried to help. I thought I could change him. I gently corrected him, but he continued to consistently mess up who versus whom and then act as if nothing had happened.
It all came to a head that perfect June day. He stood before me in a tuxedo, beaming. We’d chosen to write our own vows and my eyes shone in anticipation, but my happily ever after soon crumbled. He promised to love me “irregardless” of my health. I began to feel short of breath. He said he would love me “irregardless” of how much money I made, and my throat constricted. Not noticing my apparent panic, he continued that he would love me “irregardless” of my looks and how they might change. He said “irregardless” THREE TIMES.
The third time, I picked up my skirt and ran from the hall. I jumped into my Toyota Yaris and sped away, not stopping until I was three towns away. Just as I was starting to question whether I’d made the biggest mistake of my life, I took out my phone and saw a text message my former fiancé had sent before the wedding. It said: “see you at the alter.”
I chuckled aloud that he had misspelled altar. It was then I noticed the man next to me on the bench. “Are you laughing at that sign over there?” he asked, pointing to a gymnastics school billboard that said, “We are commited to excellence.” Together, we had a great laugh over the missing t in committed.
Although I wish I’d accepted the truth about my former fiancée and his limitations sooner, overall, I’ve no regrets about leaving him at the altar. It was best for everyone. He’s found someone who’s a better fit. I know this because his new girlfriend once messaged me: “You’re loss is my gain.” And two years after we shared a hearty chuckle over a misspelled sign, the man on the bench and I committed to each other with vows that felt perfectly grammatically correct.
