Ghosts of boyfriends past

Everyone has some of those old photos that they would rather disappeared off the face of the planet. Reminders of a bad choice, be it a dreadful haircut or really really horrific outfit. 

These days with Facebook, these photos are even more accessible and even less burnable. Sure, you can untag yourself, but somewhere out there is an awful reminder of that hideous fur catsuit you were convinced looked amazing when you left the house. You were Naomi Campbell. No. You were in fact RuPaul. 

There was a horrific period, if you recall, in the nineties when lime green and fluorescent orange was for some reason deemed to be acceptable. And not, as it should have been, an arrestable offence. If you don't recall this period, I can only assume that it is because your brain has blacked it out for your own protection. 
During this time, I owned a bright orange skin tight Lycra shirt with a black collar. Feeling this wasn't ludicrous enough, I would often couple this with some Boyzone dog tags. Hell yeah I was a stylish chick. Without any friends. This outfit is etched onto the back of my eyeballs as a mistake that should not have been made. Why did no one do anything? Like push me down a well?

Luckily, there is no photographic evidence of this atrocity. Maybe because people who even attempted to look directly at me would have their retinas burnt. 

I have a friend who used to wear foundation two shades too pale. She looked like a lost Parisian mime. Did I do the honourable thing and tell her? No. No I did not. I let her carry on scaring children and dogs as any good friend would. 

This hall of shame is not unfortunately limited to clothing or awful haircuts. We can add into this mix boyfriends who shouldn't have been. 

Ah yes. The 'what-in-God's-name-did-I-see-in-you?' Museum. 

Everyone has at least one. I, unfortunately have several. 

There's the one who ended up in a mental hospital. 

There's the one who become a monk. 

The four, five or six who turned out to be gay. (That I know of). 

The one who left me for someone else because God told him to. 

I wish I was making this up. I really do. But I'm not. Well, at least I got some good writing material out of it. And some stories to laugh at with my therapist.

And I suppose in a way, we have to have these awful relationships to prove to ourselves what it is we really want. 
But do we? Do we really? I mean, I don't need to drink a bucket of vomit to know that I would actually rather have a cake. 

And yet, somewhere along the way, I really wanted to be with these idiots. In the same way that I was happy to be dressed like a children's entertainer on ecstasy.

They say love is blind. Sometimes I think it can be deaf, mute and quite frankly a little bit slow of learning. 

I guess all we can do is pat ourselves on the back for burning those outfits and ditching those awful men. This is what makes us become complete human beings. Right? Yes. Let's all tell ourselves that... 

As for that shirt, I have no idea what happened to it in the end. I must have seen sense and thrown it out. Maybe Lady Gaga has it? Maybe it is being used by woodsmen to protect themselves from bears. Who knows... Who knows....