in which there is a fizzle at the end

A million years ago, my porn star uncle (not that he was ever really a porn star, it's just that in 1972 when I was a wee, impressionable snapper, he dressed like one. Not that I should have, or even could have known what a porn star dressed like, what with being the tender age I was back then, but dayum, the man's clothes screamed "PORNSTAR!!", and screamed it quite literally, in neon lights. Lordy, he was six foot two, and clomping around in platform shoes brought his height up to at least gigantic status, and the nifty rig out that remains burned into my retinas consisted of a brightly coloured, striped blazer with wide as shit lapels, worn with velvet flared and cuffed trousers. He accessorised the look with a handlebar moustache and chunky silver rings on each finger so what was I supposed to think??!?) was married to a sweet, blonde piece of fluff that we'll call Jane-1. The reason she's been given that moniker is that his second wife has the same name and is still quietly referred to as Jane-2. His having a second wife at all brings me to the reason for this entry. Pornstar and Jane-1 divorced all that time ago, not because during their separation she fell pregnant to her new squeeze, Brian-the-bastard, who left her and promptly euthanised their labrador puppy, Emma, when she (Jane-1, not Emma) was six months pregnant with their now 21 year old son, while wearing an everloving and apparently not-so-reliable IUD, which is another story entirely, but because Pornstar was already screwing Jane-2 who, at the time was, I think, number one in a row of seven, or was it eight? other numbers with varying names.

At the time, Jane-1 was an international flight attendant, which mad the Star's indiscretions ridiculously easy. He'd have got away with them all actually, if he wasn't stupid about forgetting to hide errant bits of lingerie from his wife. Actually, the blatant-ness (whatever) of his stupidity suggests to me that he wanted to get caught, but that's probably another story and one best left to the psychologists among us.

Annnnyway, when their marriage broke up, I was devastated because their marriage was of course, all about me, so bla bla bla and let's skim over the yearly Christmas and birthday card exchanges we shared as our two lives were being led on opposite sides of the country, with as many phone calls in between as I have toes - and pausing here to comment that this lack of contact never meant we weren't still friends, it just exemplifies how fast time rushes by when you're busy just with being alive, and fast forward to today: Jane-1 is in town this week. We saw each other yesterday for the first time in twenty one years. She hasn't changed a bit and at 55, is still blonde and fluffy and incredibly nice, and she still means the world to me. It means the world too, that after all these years of both of us saying we'd love to see each other, she's come this time to meet Daniel before he grows up in the blink of an eye, like her son did and because my son will.