My marriage lasted 11 years. He was a tall, brooding Irish writer and I compeated for the computer to write my own stuff. We even tried writing together. Then I realized he had the wrong “stuff” for me.

I was with my first partner for 4 and a half years. She did not write. She drank. I have longer relationships with tall Irish writers than I do with tall Irish alcoholics.

I have been with my tall, brooding Irish goofball for over 10 years. (Yes, I have a type. What about it?) We each have our own computers. I write non-fiction and she does “fanfic” and videos.

Through it all, I have always had my curling iron. Yes, it is the same curling iron I used in the 80’s. It sits in a bathroom drawer and waits for the styles to change and for me to fold it’s cold, metal barrel into my unruly heavy locks and turn it on.

It isn’t tall. It doesn’t write. I don’t think it’s Irish. It hasn’t touched a drop since my disco days. Whether I sport a mullet, swing cut, or spiral perm, it will be waiting.