Hi. I’m not Molly.

No. It’s true!

I dressed up as Molly once, but that is really none of your concern.

I’m Peter!

Molly picked me to be the final guest blogger because she loves me the most. But, don’t tell the others. Shhhhhhhh. They’ll all be like “Molly’s pet! Molly’s pet!” while I am trying to eat my Snackables during recess. Nobody wants that. NOBODY.

Before I get started, I have to admit that Molly told me that I wasn’t allowed to “cheat” in order to get the most comments amongst the guest posters. The reason she mentioned this is because I am a dude and, thus, a teensy bit competitive. And also because I have a habit of replying to comments. Which, if you ask me, is just being polite. And, as a nice Canadian boy, it is going to be hard to rudely ignore comments.

But, you should feel free to comment away.

Have I mentioned just how lovely you are as a group? Really. Such a combination of beauty and brains. It is quite impressive.

OK.

Since this is Molly’s blog, I have decided to write about two of my recent shoe purchases. Please note that these look moderately less pontoon-esque when I am wearing them. What do you want? They are size 12 1/2.

#1 purchase…

Adidas Sambas, baby!

These are my every day sneakers. Good for running errands, first dates, toppling foreign governments.

#2 purchase…

If you are asking, “Are those old school Adidas Gazelles?,” wonder no longer. They are!

These are my more formal sneakers. For job interviews, speaking at the U.N., or weddings. (Yet somehow I remain single. It’s a head-scratcher.)

The beauty of both of these is —

I’m sorry. I… I can’t go on with this charade.

I thought that I could treat this as just another guest posting gig. I thought…

But, I can’t keep it inside any longer.

Molly and I used to be involved.

Are you done gasping? Can I continue?

It was years ago. Before she met Michael.

In fact, it was 2002. A simpler time, really.

I was a somewhat licentious young business man. I would buy companies, tear them down, and sell the parts for a profit. And Molly was a college girl, paying her way by working as a high class call girl. What? She didn’t mention this? Check her archives. I’m sure it’s there.

So, yeah, I was a rich businessman with good hair, falling for a hooker with a heart of gold. Which, you may remember, is the plot of a fairly popular Hollywood film…

Dances With Wolves.

I met Molly in a bar. I actually met Molly’s cute brunette friend first. But, it turned out that she was a Patriots fan. So, I told the bouncer that she had grabbed my junk and got her tossed.

And then, as Santana’s “Game of Love” featuring Michelle Branch played, I spotted Molly. She was looking at her reflection in a window, displeased with her recent experiment with bangs. (Not a euphemism.)

I approached her. We talked. We danced. We connected.

It was like magic.

Actually it was more powerful than that.

It was like… magique.

Or something. I don’t know.

Things went well for quite a while. We had one little snag. I insulted her by trying to pay her for something early on. I didn’t know. I thought that the goat was a bit above and beyond the call of duty, but whatever…

I taught her to stick up for herself.
She taught me to love.

I taught her that it was OK to rely on others sometimes.
She taught me to dream.

I taught her how to claim shoes as a business expense on her taxes.
She taught me this thing with ping pong balls…

But, then, as so often happens, we changed and started drifting apart… until it ended.

And that is the story of the love that Molly and I once shared.

I am actually pretty proud of how we’ve gotten past it all and become blog friends.

Thanks for your time and for letting me get it all out.

Remind me some day to tell you about the time Clink and I spent a weekend together in that romantic city with the beautiful tower and sparkling lights…

Odessa, Texas.

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