So who is ‘Sweet Annie,’ really?

I’ve gotten a lot of reader mail recently from folks wanting to know more about Sweet Annie. Guys, especially, seem interested in whether she’s really as wonderful as I make her out to be in this column.

The short answer is: yes.

She’s got the brains of Carl Sagan, the patience of Job, the looks of Michelle Pfeiffer, the athletic prowess of Maria Sharapova and — despite all this and against all odds — she likes me. That last one sometimes takes some doing, I think, but she manages it.

Does she have her faults? Oh, you bet. Her hair, first thing in the morning, looks like the aftermath of an explosion in a confetti factory. When you’re a passenger in her car, it’s best to simply close your eyes, shut your mouth, and remember she has somehow managed to operate a vehicle for many years without killing herself or anyone else. Her rendition of “These Boots Are Made for Walking” can pretty much clear a karaoke bar.

But as faults go, these are fairly minor. My own tend to be far more odious; I am, at various times, impatient, grumpy, oblivious, inconsiderate, boring, and moderately inebriated (which is when the “boring” thing is most apt to occur). Also, my own hair first thing in the morning is never going to win any Vidal Sassoon “natural beauty” awards.

Annie and I have been together almost three years, which is one year too long. Or maybe it would be better to say we got together one year too soon. I just wasn’t ready for her.

My wife, The Former Lovely Mrs. Taylor, had only months earlier dumped me with extreme prejudice, and I was still in that muttonheaded, tempestuous limbo most guys in that situation experience. What’s wrong with me? How come she doesn’t love me? What could I have done differently? If I kill her and make it look like an accident will the police still suspect me?

I was your typical post-divorce basket case.

Into this dark corner Annie shed a little light. I clung to her like a drowning man to a life preserver. But, because of the basket case thing, I also was frequently a colossal jerk.

Annie, who really is quite beautiful (after she fixes her hair), was accustomed to better treatment from the men in her life. So we quarreled. I’d get mad, storm out, go somewhere and pout; basically act like a twit.

A few weeks or months later, one of us would make a conciliatory overture and we’d be back together. The process would repeat. Then repeat again. It was exhausting.

But eventually the rough edges wore away. I got over my previous relationship. I began to appreciate Annie for who she was, not for who I wanted her to be.

These days, I guess it would be safe to say I’m crazy about her. I miss her when she’s not around. There’s nobody I would rather spend time with. I won’t say she’s my whole world, but she’s damn close.

Now, if she could only learn to drive and do something about that hair.  (And I was only kidding about that karaoke thing; her singing isn’t that bad.)

Mike Taylor’s book, “Looking at the Pint Half Full,” is available in eBook format on Amazon.com, or in paperback at mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com.

mtaylor@staffordmediasolutions.com

(616) 548-8273