I left the love of my life because I thought I could do better. Now I'm childless and alone at 42

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2263518/I-left-love-life-I-thought-I-better-Now-Im-childless-42.html#ixzz2t2R1iSvk

Laughing and dancing with my fiance at our engagement party, I thought I might actually burst with happiness.

Surrounded by our family and friends, I looked at Matthew and felt certain I had met the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

Quite simply, he was my soulmate.
It all seemed so simple to my naïve, 19-year-old self. I was, I smugly told myself, the girl who had it all.

So why, 20 years later, do I find myself single, childless and tormented by the fact that I have thrown away the only true chance of happiness I ever had?

Eight years after that wonderful engagement party in 1989, I walked away from dear, devoted, loyal Matthew, convinced that somewhere out there, a better, more exciting, more fulfilling life awaited me.

Only there wasn't.

Now I am 42 and have all the trappings of success - a high-flying career, financial security and a home in the heart of London's trendy Notting Hill. But I don't have the one thing I crave more than anything: a loving husband and family.

'My father warned me not to throw this love away. But I was sure I'd find Mr Perfect around the corner'

You see, I never did find another man who offered everything Matthew did, who understood me and loved me like he did. Someone who was my best friend as well as my lover.

Today, seeing friends with their children around them tortures me, as I know I am unlikely ever to have a family of my own. I think about the times Matthew and I talked about having children, even discussing the names we would choose. I cannot believe I turned my back on so much happiness.

Instead, here I am back on the singles market, looking for the very thing I discarded with barely a backward glance all those years ago.

I know I can't have Matthew back, and it hurts when I hear snippets of information about his life and how content he is. Fifteen years after I ended our relationship, he is happily married.

At this time of year, so many people will be assessing their lives and relationships, wondering if the grass is greener on the other side. Many will mistake contentment for boredom, forgetting to cherish the good things they have. I would urge those who are considering walking away from such riches to think again.

How different things would be for me now if only I'd listened to Matthew when he pleaded with me not to leave him in 1997, tears pouring down his face. I was crying too, and it tortured me to watch the heart of the man I loved breaking in front of me. But I was resolute.

Let's tryagain!

Thirty-three per cent of adults said they’d reunite with their first love if they could, says one study.

'One day I might look back and realise I've made the biggest mistake of my life,' I told him as we clung to each other desperately. How prophetic those words have proven to be.

'I will always be here for you,' Matthew promised. And I, arrogantly, thought that somehow I could put him on ice and return to him.

Matthew and I met when we attended the same comprehensive school in Essex. We started dating just before Christmas 1987 when I was 17 and studying for my A-levels. By that time he had left school and was working as a motorcycle courier.

We got on like a house on fire, and our families each supported the relationship. Before long, we had fallen in love. Matthew was romantic but incredibly practical, something that would later come to annoy me. His gifts to me that Christmas were a leather jacket - and a pair of thermal leggings.

While she still loved him, Karen began to feel embarrassed by Matthew's blue-collar jobs

Two weeks later, when we'd been seeing each other for less than a month, he proposed. We were in my little Mini Clubman when he shouted at me to stop the car. Scared something was wrong, I braked in the middle of traffic and we both jumped out.

Then, oblivious to the other drivers beeping their horns, he got down on one knee in the middle of the road. 'I love you, Karen Cross,' he said. 'Promise you'll marry me one day.' I laughed and said yes, thrilled that he felt the same way that I did.

In the summer of 1989, while out for a romantic meal, Matthew proposed properly with a diamond solitaire ring. Two months later, we held our engagement party for 40 friends and family at the little house we were renting at the time.

The following year, we bought a tiny starter home in Grays, Essex, which we moved into with furniture we had begged, borrowed and stolen. We giggled with delight at the thought of this grown-up new life.

I was in my first junior role at a women's magazine and Matthew worked fitting tyres and exhausts, so our combined salaries of around £15,000 a year meant we struggled to make the mortgage payments. But we didn't care, telling ourselves that it wouldn't be long before we were earning more and able to afford weekly treats and a bigger home where we could bring up the babies we had planned.

But then, the housing market crashed and we were plunged into negative equity.

Struggling should have brought us closer together, and at first it did. But as time went on, and my magazine career - and salary - advanced, I started to resent Matthew as he drifted from one dead-end job to another.

Karen stopped appreciating little things he did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow

I still loved him, but I began to feel embarrassed by his blue-collar jobs, annoyed that, despite his intelligence, he didn't have a career. Then he bought a lurid blue and pink VW Beetle.

Why couldn't he drive a normal car? Things that now seem incredibly insignificant began to niggle.

I began to wish he was more sophisticated and earned more. I felt envious of friends with better-off partners, who were able to support them as they started their families.

I stopped seeing Matthew as my equal. I stopped seeing all the qualities that had made me fall in love with him - his fierce intelligence, our shared sense of humour, his determination not to follow the crowd. Instead, I saw someone who was holding me back.

'I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting another woman before me. How dare she come between us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I vented my spleen at both of them in a series of heated phone calls'

I encouraged him to find a career and was thrilled when he was accepted to join the police in 1995. It should have heralded a new chapter in our lives, but it only hastened the end. We went from spending every evening and weekend together, to hardly seeing one another. Matthew was doing round-the-clock shifts, while I worked long hours on the launch of a new magazine.

Our sex life had dwindled and nights out together were rare. I stopped appreciating little things he did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow or scouring secondhand bookshops for novels he knew I'd love. He was my best friend, yet I took him totally for granted.

After festering for weeks about his shortcomings, I told Matthew I was leaving. We spent hours talking and crying as he tried to convince me to stay, but I was adamant.

My parents were horrified that I was walking away from a man they felt was right for me. My father's words to me that day continue to haunt me. 'Karen, think carefully about what you're doing. There's a lot to be said for someone who truly loves you.'

But, I refused to listen, convinced there would be another, better Mr Right waiting around the corner.

I moved into a rented flat a few miles away in Hornchurch, Essex, and embraced single life with a vengeance. By now I was an editor on a national magazine. Life was one long round of premieres and dinner or drinks parties.

Matthew and I remained close, even telling each other about new relationships. But though I'd dumped him, I never felt the women he met were good enough. I can see now I was acting out of jealousy. I clearly wanted to keep him for myself.

Our closeness was, however, called to a halt in 2000 when he met his first serious girlfriend after me, Sara.

One night shortly after his 34th birthday, I phoned to ask his advice about something.

Matthew was unusually abrupt and asked me not to call him again. 'Please don't send me birthday or Christmas cards any more either. Sara opened your card last week and was really upset. I have to put her feelings first.'

I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting another woman before me. How dare she come between us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I vented my spleen at both of them in a series of heated phone calls.

I was completely irrational. I didn't want Matthew back, but felt upstaged by Sara.

Unsurprisingly, after one particularly nasty argument, Matthew put the phone down and refused to take any more of my calls. I didn't realise it at the time, but I would never speak to him again.

Shortly afterwards, I met Richard. It was a whirlwind romance, and within a year we were engaged and buying an idyllic farmhouse in the Norfolk countryside while I continued my journalistic career, commuting to London.

He was a successful singer and, as we toured the country, I thought I had finally found the excitement and love that I craved.

But Matthew was never far from my thoughts, and Richard complained that I often brought him into conversations, even comparing them both.

They were so different. Although outwardly romantic, Richard was repeatedly unfaithful, and I never felt secure enough to start a family with him. Eventually, after three-and-a-half years together, he walked out, having admitted his latest paramour was pregnant by him.

My life fell apart. Over the next year, I struggled to pull myself back together and did a lot of soul-searching. I finally understood what my father had meant. I realised Matthew was the only person who had loved and understood me.

When I heard through a mutual friend that he had split up with Sara, I wrote to him, apologising and asking for forgiveness - and a second chance. It was six years since we had last spoken, but naively I thought he would want to hear from me.

What I didn't know was that Sara was still living at the house and it was she who opened my very personal letter. It included my phone number, and she left me several angry, hurtful voicemails.

Yet again, I had inadvertently caused problems in Matthew's life, so it was unsurprising I never heard from him, despite writing several times over the next few months. In the end, I left it at birthday and Christmas cards, thinking he'd find a way to get in touch if he ever changed his mind.

Then, I heard a couple of years ago Matthew had married his new partner, Nicola. For a few moments I couldn't breathe, then the tears came.

Matthew and Nicola still live in Essex and, as far as I know, don't yet have children. That's the next milestone I truly dread.

It's been 11 years since Matthew and I last spoke, and I have to accept that door has closed.

Perhaps he has found what he is looking for and I am a distant memory.

I have had one other significant relationship since Richard - with Rob - but that recently ended after four years. Rob reminded me a lot of Matthew. He was decent and honourable, the life and soul of the party but with a kind and sensitive side.

But we were each too jaded by previous heartbreak to make it work. And while I wanted children, he had a grown-up son and didn't want to start over again.
So once again I am on my own, my mind full of 'if-onlys'. If only I'd stayed with Matthew, we'd almost certainly be married with children.

Or, maybe Matthew wasn't the right man. I will never know the answer, but my decision to leave him has definitely cost me the chance of ever becoming a mother.

Now I can only look back and admonish my selfish, younger self. When I visit friends and family back in our home town, I can't help but hope I'll bump into Matthew.

I'd like to think I'd say sorry. That I will always be there for him. But I wouldn't be surprised if he turned his back on me and kept walking.

To those out there thinking of walking away from humdrum relationships, I would say don't mistake contentment for unhappiness, as I did. It could be a choice you'll regret for the rest of your life.
Attachments:

A message for Women... Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I left the love of my life because I thought I
> could do better. Now I'm childless and alone at
> 42
>
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2263518/
> I-left-love-life-I-thought-I-better-Now-Im-childle
> ss-42.html#ixzz2t2R1iSvk
>
> Laughing and dancing with my fiance at our
> engagement party, I thought I might actually burst
> with happiness.
>
> Surrounded by our family and friends, I looked at
> Matthew and felt certain I had met the man I was
> going to spend the rest of my life with.
>
> Quite simply, he was my soulmate.
> It all seemed so simple to my naïve, 19-year-old
> self. I was, I smugly told myself, the girl who
> had it all.
>
> So why, 20 years later, do I find myself single,
> childless and tormented by the fact that I have
> thrown away the only true chance of happiness I
> ever had?
>
> Eight years after that wonderful engagement party
> in 1989, I walked away from dear, devoted, loyal
> Matthew, convinced that somewhere out there, a
> better, more exciting, more fulfilling life
> awaited me.
>
> Only there wasn't.
>
> Now I am 42 and have all the trappings of success
> - a high-flying career, financial security and a
> home in the heart of London's trendy Notting Hill.
> But I don't have the one thing I crave more than
> anything: a loving husband and family.
>
> 'My father warned me not to throw this love away.
> But I was sure I'd find Mr Perfect around the
> corner'
>
> You see, I never did find another man who offered
> everything Matthew did, who understood me and
> loved me like he did. Someone who was my best
> friend as well as my lover.
>
> Today, seeing friends with their children around
> them tortures me, as I know I am unlikely ever to
> have a family of my own. I think about the times
> Matthew and I talked about having children, even
> discussing the names we would choose. I cannot
> believe I turned my back on so much happiness.
>
> Instead, here I am back on the singles market,
> looking for the very thing I discarded with barely
> a backward glance all those years ago.
>
> I know I can't have Matthew back, and it hurts
> when I hear snippets of information about his life
> and how content he is. Fifteen years after I ended
> our relationship, he is happily married.
>
> At this time of year, so many people will be
> assessing their lives and relationships, wondering
> if the grass is greener on the other side. Many
> will mistake contentment for boredom, forgetting
> to cherish the good things they have. I would urge
> those who are considering walking away from such
> riches to think again.
>
> How different things would be for me now if only
> I'd listened to Matthew when he pleaded with me
> not to leave him in 1997, tears pouring down his
> face. I was crying too, and it tortured me to
> watch the heart of the man I loved breaking in
> front of me. But I was resolute.
>
> Let's tryagain!
>
> Thirty-three per cent of adults said they’d
> reunite with their first love if they could, says
> one study.
>
> 'One day I might look back and realise I've made
> the biggest mistake of my life,' I told him as we
> clung to each other desperately. How prophetic
> those words have proven to be.
>
> 'I will always be here for you,' Matthew promised.
> And I, arrogantly, thought that somehow I could
> put him on ice and return to him.
>
> Matthew and I met when we attended the same
> comprehensive school in Essex. We started dating
> just before Christmas 1987 when I was 17 and
> studying for my A-levels. By that time he had left
> school and was working as a motorcycle courier.
>
> We got on like a house on fire, and our families
> each supported the relationship. Before long, we
> had fallen in love. Matthew was romantic but
> incredibly practical, something that would later
> come to annoy me. His gifts to me that Christmas
> were a leather jacket - and a pair of thermal
> leggings.
>
> While she still loved him, Karen began to feel
> embarrassed by Matthew's blue-collar jobs
>
> Two weeks later, when we'd been seeing each other
> for less than a month, he proposed. We were in my
> little Mini Clubman when he shouted at me to stop
> the car. Scared something was wrong, I braked in
> the middle of traffic and we both jumped out.
>
> Then, oblivious to the other drivers beeping their
> horns, he got down on one knee in the middle of
> the road. 'I love you, Karen Cross,' he said.
> 'Promise you'll marry me one day.' I laughed and
> said yes, thrilled that he felt the same way that
> I did.
>
> In the summer of 1989, while out for a romantic
> meal, Matthew proposed properly with a diamond
> solitaire ring. Two months later, we held our
> engagement party for 40 friends and family at the
> little house we were renting at the time.
>
> The following year, we bought a tiny starter home
> in Grays, Essex, which we moved into with
> furniture we had begged, borrowed and stolen. We
> giggled with delight at the thought of this
> grown-up new life.
>
> I was in my first junior role at a women's
> magazine and Matthew worked fitting tyres and
> exhausts, so our combined salaries of around
> £15,000 a year meant we struggled to make the
> mortgage payments. But we didn't care, telling
> ourselves that it wouldn't be long before we were
> earning more and able to afford weekly treats and
> a bigger home where we could bring up the babies
> we had planned.
>
> But then, the housing market crashed and we were
> plunged into negative equity.
>
> Struggling should have brought us closer together,
> and at first it did. But as time went on, and my
> magazine career - and salary - advanced, I started
> to resent Matthew as he drifted from one dead-end
> job to another.
>
> Karen stopped appreciating little things he did,
> like leaving romantic notes on the pillow
>
> I still loved him, but I began to feel embarrassed
> by his blue-collar jobs, annoyed that, despite his
> intelligence, he didn't have a career. Then he
> bought a lurid blue and pink VW Beetle.
>
> Why couldn't he drive a normal car? Things that
> now seem incredibly insignificant began to
> niggle.
>
> I began to wish he was more sophisticated and
> earned more. I felt envious of friends with
> better-off partners, who were able to support them
> as they started their families.
>
> I stopped seeing Matthew as my equal. I stopped
> seeing all the qualities that had made me fall in
> love with him - his fierce intelligence, our
> shared sense of humour, his determination not to
> follow the crowd. Instead, I saw someone who was
> holding me back.
>
> 'I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls'
>
> I encouraged him to find a career and was thrilled
> when he was accepted to join the police in 1995.
> It should have heralded a new chapter in our
> lives, but it only hastened the end. We went from
> spending every evening and weekend together, to
> hardly seeing one another. Matthew was doing
> round-the-clock shifts, while I worked long hours
> on the launch of a new magazine.
>
> Our sex life had dwindled and nights out together
> were rare. I stopped appreciating little things he
> did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow or
> scouring secondhand bookshops for novels he knew
> I'd love. He was my best friend, yet I took him
> totally for granted.
>
> After festering for weeks about his shortcomings,
> I told Matthew I was leaving. We spent hours
> talking and crying as he tried to convince me to
> stay, but I was adamant.
>
> My parents were horrified that I was walking away
> from a man they felt was right for me. My father's
> words to me that day continue to haunt me. 'Karen,
> think carefully about what you're doing. There's a
> lot to be said for someone who truly loves you.'
>
> But, I refused to listen, convinced there would be
> another, better Mr Right waiting around the
> corner.
>
> I moved into a rented flat a few miles away in
> Hornchurch, Essex, and embraced single life with a
> vengeance. By now I was an editor on a national
> magazine. Life was one long round of premieres and
> dinner or drinks parties.
>
> Matthew and I remained close, even telling each
> other about new relationships. But though I'd
> dumped him, I never felt the women he met were
> good enough. I can see now I was acting out of
> jealousy. I clearly wanted to keep him for
> myself.
>
> Our closeness was, however, called to a halt in
> 2000 when he met his first serious girlfriend
> after me, Sara.
>
> One night shortly after his 34th birthday, I
> phoned to ask his advice about something.
>
> Matthew was unusually abrupt and asked me not to
> call him again. 'Please don't send me birthday or
> Christmas cards any more either. Sara opened your
> card last week and was really upset. I have to put
> her feelings first.'
>
> I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls.
>
> I was completely irrational. I didn't want Matthew
> back, but felt upstaged by Sara.
>
> Unsurprisingly, after one particularly nasty
> argument, Matthew put the phone down and refused
> to take any more of my calls. I didn't realise it
> at the time, but I would never speak to him
> again.
>
> Shortly afterwards, I met Richard. It was a
> whirlwind romance, and within a year we were
> engaged and buying an idyllic farmhouse in the
> Norfolk countryside while I continued my
> journalistic career, commuting to London.
>
> He was a successful singer and, as we toured the
> country, I thought I had finally found the
> excitement and love that I craved.
>
> But Matthew was never far from my thoughts, and
> Richard complained that I often brought him into
> conversations, even comparing them both.
>
> They were so different. Although outwardly
> romantic, Richard was repeatedly unfaithful, and I
> never felt secure enough to start a family with
> him. Eventually, after three-and-a-half years
> together, he walked out, having admitted his
> latest paramour was pregnant by him.
>
> My life fell apart. Over the next year, I
> struggled to pull myself back together and did a
> lot of soul-searching. I finally understood what
> my father had meant. I realised Matthew was the
> only person who had loved and understood me.
>
> When I heard through a mutual friend that he had
> split up with Sara, I wrote to him, apologising
> and asking for forgiveness - and a second chance.
> It was six years since we had last spoken, but
> naively I thought he would want to hear from me.
>
> What I didn't know was that Sara was still living
> at the house and it was she who opened my very
> personal letter. It included my phone number, and
> she left me several angry, hurtful voicemails.
>
> Yet again, I had inadvertently caused problems in
> Matthew's life, so it was unsurprising I never
> heard from him, despite writing several times over
> the next few months. In the end, I left it at
> birthday and Christmas cards, thinking he'd find a
> way to get in touch if he ever changed his mind.
>
> Then, I heard a couple of years ago Matthew had
> married his new partner, Nicola. For a few moments
> I couldn't breathe, then the tears came.
>
> Matthew and Nicola still live in Essex and, as far
> as I know, don't yet have children. That's the
> next milestone I truly dread.
>
> It's been 11 years since Matthew and I last spoke,
> and I have to accept that door has closed.
>
> Perhaps he has found what he is looking for and I
> am a distant memory.
>
> I have had one other significant relationship
> since Richard - with Rob - but that recently ended
> after four years. Rob reminded me a lot of
> Matthew. He was decent and honourable, the life
> and soul of the party but with a kind and
> sensitive side.
>
> But we were each too jaded by previous heartbreak
> to make it work. And while I wanted children, he
> had a grown-up son and didn't want to start over
> again.
> So once again I am on my own, my mind full of
> 'if-onlys'. If only I'd stayed with Matthew, we'd
> almost certainly be married with children.
>
> Or, maybe Matthew wasn't the right man. I will
> never know the answer, but my decision to leave
> him has definitely cost me the chance of ever
> becoming a mother.
>
> Now I can only look back and admonish my selfish,
> younger self. When I visit friends and family back
> in our home town, I can't help but hope I'll bump
> into Matthew.
>
> I'd like to think I'd say sorry. That I will
> always be there for him. But I wouldn't be
> surprised if he turned his back on me and kept
> walking.
>
> To those out there thinking of walking away from
> humdrum relationships, I would say don't mistake
> contentment for unhappiness, as I did. It could be
> a choice you'll regret for the rest of your life.

That's stupid.

...
Attachments:

A message for Women... Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I left the love of my life because I thought I
> could do better. Now I'm childless and alone at
> 42
>
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2263518/
> I-left-love-life-I-thought-I-better-Now-Im-childle
> ss-42.html#ixzz2t2R1iSvk
>
> Laughing and dancing with my fiance at our
> engagement party, I thought I might actually burst
> with happiness.
>
> Surrounded by our family and friends, I looked at
> Matthew and felt certain I had met the man I was
> going to spend the rest of my life with.
>
> Quite simply, he was my soulmate.
> It all seemed so simple to my naïve, 19-year-old
> self. I was, I smugly told myself, the girl who
> had it all.
>
> So why, 20 years later, do I find myself single,
> childless and tormented by the fact that I have
> thrown away the only true chance of happiness I
> ever had?
>
> Eight years after that wonderful engagement party
> in 1989, I walked away from dear, devoted, loyal
> Matthew, convinced that somewhere out there, a
> better, more exciting, more fulfilling life
> awaited me.
>
> Only there wasn't.
>
> Now I am 42 and have all the trappings of success
> - a high-flying career, financial security and a
> home in the heart of London's trendy Notting Hill.
> But I don't have the one thing I crave more than
> anything: a loving husband and family.
>
> 'My father warned me not to throw this love away.
> But I was sure I'd find Mr Perfect around the
> corner'
>
> You see, I never did find another man who offered
> everything Matthew did, who understood me and
> loved me like he did. Someone who was my best
> friend as well as my lover.
>
> Today, seeing friends with their children around
> them tortures me, as I know I am unlikely ever to
> have a family of my own. I think about the times
> Matthew and I talked about having children, even
> discussing the names we would choose. I cannot
> believe I turned my back on so much happiness.
>
> Instead, here I am back on the singles market,
> looking for the very thing I discarded with barely
> a backward glance all those years ago.
>
> I know I can't have Matthew back, and it hurts
> when I hear snippets of information about his life
> and how content he is. Fifteen years after I ended
> our relationship, he is happily married.
>
> At this time of year, so many people will be
> assessing their lives and relationships, wondering
> if the grass is greener on the other side. Many
> will mistake contentment for boredom, forgetting
> to cherish the good things they have. I would urge
> those who are considering walking away from such
> riches to think again.
>
> How different things would be for me now if only
> I'd listened to Matthew when he pleaded with me
> not to leave him in 1997, tears pouring down his
> face. I was crying too, and it tortured me to
> watch the heart of the man I loved breaking in
> front of me. But I was resolute.
>
> Let's tryagain!
>
> Thirty-three per cent of adults said they’d
> reunite with their first love if they could, says
> one study.
>
> 'One day I might look back and realise I've made
> the biggest mistake of my life,' I told him as we
> clung to each other desperately. How prophetic
> those words have proven to be.
>
> 'I will always be here for you,' Matthew promised.
> And I, arrogantly, thought that somehow I could
> put him on ice and return to him.
>
> Matthew and I met when we attended the same
> comprehensive school in Essex. We started dating
> just before Christmas 1987 when I was 17 and
> studying for my A-levels. By that time he had left
> school and was working as a motorcycle courier.
>
> We got on like a house on fire, and our families
> each supported the relationship. Before long, we
> had fallen in love. Matthew was romantic but
> incredibly practical, something that would later
> come to annoy me. His gifts to me that Christmas
> were a leather jacket - and a pair of thermal
> leggings.
>
> While she still loved him, Karen began to feel
> embarrassed by Matthew's blue-collar jobs
>
> Two weeks later, when we'd been seeing each other
> for less than a month, he proposed. We were in my
> little Mini Clubman when he shouted at me to stop
> the car. Scared something was wrong, I braked in
> the middle of traffic and we both jumped out.
>
> Then, oblivious to the other drivers beeping their
> horns, he got down on one knee in the middle of
> the road. 'I love you, Karen Cross,' he said.
> 'Promise you'll marry me one day.' I laughed and
> said yes, thrilled that he felt the same way that
> I did.
>
> In the summer of 1989, while out for a romantic
> meal, Matthew proposed properly with a diamond
> solitaire ring. Two months later, we held our
> engagement party for 40 friends and family at the
> little house we were renting at the time.
>
> The following year, we bought a tiny starter home
> in Grays, Essex, which we moved into with
> furniture we had begged, borrowed and stolen. We
> giggled with delight at the thought of this
> grown-up new life.
>
> I was in my first junior role at a women's
> magazine and Matthew worked fitting tyres and
> exhausts, so our combined salaries of around
> £15,000 a year meant we struggled to make the
> mortgage payments. But we didn't care, telling
> ourselves that it wouldn't be long before we were
> earning more and able to afford weekly treats and
> a bigger home where we could bring up the babies
> we had planned.
>
> But then, the housing market crashed and we were
> plunged into negative equity.
>
> Struggling should have brought us closer together,
> and at first it did. But as time went on, and my
> magazine career - and salary - advanced, I started
> to resent Matthew as he drifted from one dead-end
> job to another.
>
> Karen stopped appreciating little things he did,
> like leaving romantic notes on the pillow
>
> I still loved him, but I began to feel embarrassed
> by his blue-collar jobs, annoyed that, despite his
> intelligence, he didn't have a career. Then he
> bought a lurid blue and pink VW Beetle.
>
> Why couldn't he drive a normal car? Things that
> now seem incredibly insignificant began to
> niggle.
>
> I began to wish he was more sophisticated and
> earned more. I felt envious of friends with
> better-off partners, who were able to support them
> as they started their families.
>
> I stopped seeing Matthew as my equal. I stopped
> seeing all the qualities that had made me fall in
> love with him - his fierce intelligence, our
> shared sense of humour, his determination not to
> follow the crowd. Instead, I saw someone who was
> holding me back.
>
> 'I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls'
>
> I encouraged him to find a career and was thrilled
> when he was accepted to join the police in 1995.
> It should have heralded a new chapter in our
> lives, but it only hastened the end. We went from
> spending every evening and weekend together, to
> hardly seeing one another. Matthew was doing
> round-the-clock shifts, while I worked long hours
> on the launch of a new magazine.
>
> Our sex life had dwindled and nights out together
> were rare. I stopped appreciating little things he
> did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow or
> scouring secondhand bookshops for novels he knew
> I'd love. He was my best friend, yet I took him
> totally for granted.
>
> After festering for weeks about his shortcomings,
> I told Matthew I was leaving. We spent hours
> talking and crying as he tried to convince me to
> stay, but I was adamant.
>
> My parents were horrified that I was walking away
> from a man they felt was right for me. My father's
> words to me that day continue to haunt me. 'Karen,
> think carefully about what you're doing. There's a
> lot to be said for someone who truly loves you.'
>
> But, I refused to listen, convinced there would be
> another, better Mr Right waiting around the
> corner.
>
> I moved into a rented flat a few miles away in
> Hornchurch, Essex, and embraced single life with a
> vengeance. By now I was an editor on a national
> magazine. Life was one long round of premieres and
> dinner or drinks parties.
>
> Matthew and I remained close, even telling each
> other about new relationships. But though I'd
> dumped him, I never felt the women he met were
> good enough. I can see now I was acting out of
> jealousy. I clearly wanted to keep him for
> myself.
>
> Our closeness was, however, called to a halt in
> 2000 when he met his first serious girlfriend
> after me, Sara.
>
> One night shortly after his 34th birthday, I
> phoned to ask his advice about something.
>
> Matthew was unusually abrupt and asked me not to
> call him again. 'Please don't send me birthday or
> Christmas cards any more either. Sara opened your
> card last week and was really upset. I have to put
> her feelings first.'
>
> I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls.
>
> I was completely irrational. I didn't want Matthew
> back, but felt upstaged by Sara.
>
> Unsurprisingly, after one particularly nasty
> argument, Matthew put the phone down and refused
> to take any more of my calls. I didn't realise it
> at the time, but I would never speak to him
> again.
>
> Shortly afterwards, I met Richard. It was a
> whirlwind romance, and within a year we were
> engaged and buying an idyllic farmhouse in the
> Norfolk countryside while I continued my
> journalistic career, commuting to London.
>
> He was a successful singer and, as we toured the
> country, I thought I had finally found the
> excitement and love that I craved.
>
> But Matthew was never far from my thoughts, and
> Richard complained that I often brought him into
> conversations, even comparing them both.
>
> They were so different. Although outwardly
> romantic, Richard was repeatedly unfaithful, and I
> never felt secure enough to start a family with
> him. Eventually, after three-and-a-half years
> together, he walked out, having admitted his
> latest paramour was pregnant by him.
>
> My life fell apart. Over the next year, I
> struggled to pull myself back together and did a
> lot of soul-searching. I finally understood what
> my father had meant. I realised Matthew was the
> only person who had loved and understood me.
>
> When I heard through a mutual friend that he had
> split up with Sara, I wrote to him, apologising
> and asking for forgiveness - and a second chance.
> It was six years since we had last spoken, but
> naively I thought he would want to hear from me.
>
> What I didn't know was that Sara was still living
> at the house and it was she who opened my very
> personal letter. It included my phone number, and
> she left me several angry, hurtful voicemails.
>
> Yet again, I had inadvertently caused problems in
> Matthew's life, so it was unsurprising I never
> heard from him, despite writing several times over
> the next few months. In the end, I left it at
> birthday and Christmas cards, thinking he'd find a
> way to get in touch if he ever changed his mind.
>
> Then, I heard a couple of years ago Matthew had
> married his new partner, Nicola. For a few moments
> I couldn't breathe, then the tears came.
>
> Matthew and Nicola still live in Essex and, as far
> as I know, don't yet have children. That's the
> next milestone I truly dread.
>
> It's been 11 years since Matthew and I last spoke,
> and I have to accept that door has closed.
>
> Perhaps he has found what he is looking for and I
> am a distant memory.
>
> I have had one other significant relationship
> since Richard - with Rob - but that recently ended
> after four years. Rob reminded me a lot of
> Matthew. He was decent and honourable, the life
> and soul of the party but with a kind and
> sensitive side.
>
> But we were each too jaded by previous heartbreak
> to make it work. And while I wanted children, he
> had a grown-up son and didn't want to start over
> again.
> So once again I am on my own, my mind full of
> 'if-onlys'. If only I'd stayed with Matthew, we'd
> almost certainly be married with children.
>
> Or, maybe Matthew wasn't the right man. I will
> never know the answer, but my decision to leave
> him has definitely cost me the chance of ever
> becoming a mother.
>
> Now I can only look back and admonish my selfish,
> younger self. When I visit friends and family back
> in our home town, I can't help but hope I'll bump
> into Matthew.
>
> I'd like to think I'd say sorry. That I will
> always be there for him. But I wouldn't be
> surprised if he turned his back on me and kept
> walking.
>
> To those out there thinking of walking away from
> humdrum relationships, I would say don't mistake
> contentment for unhappiness, as I did. It could be
> a choice you'll regret for the rest of your life.

Do you love sucking cock and recieving anal sex? Well maybe we could fall in love?
But only if you do all the cooking and cleaning as well...

And people think that I'm pathetic!
Attachments:

I wish I would of had the balls to leave my wife and kids.

Now I'm stuck with this whiney bitch and driving these ass kids to their play dates etc...

Mean while my buddies are traveling, going to Vegas, hitting happy hours to watch sports and getting laid by any chick they want.

My life sucks!

cliff notes please

Who the fuck cares?

I was going to leave you before long anyway. Your vag is too loose and you would not allow anal. My new wife is hot and she is not a selfish cunt like you.

The best thing I ever did was kick my wife to the curb. When I first married her she was sweet and hot. After 7 years she ballooned into a fat bitch nag who sat around reading books.

I wasted 7 prime years of life with that nag. I am never getting married again. I had a couple of girlfriends and completely enjoy my BMW and traveling on whim to some exotic beach.

she didn't care for nearly 17 years.

What in the world does this have to do with Fairfax County???

It would take a man with a heart of stone to read this story and not burst into peals of laughter.

Stupid bitch...you reap what you sow...

You know that there is a reason your currently alone. You are suffering from a permanent case of grass is always greener. The fence looks the same from both sides.

She looks like a crazy psycho white girl that will end up with a black man...because her expiration date is past due

Lady next to me at work is like 60 years old and has no relatives and no kids. Her only friends seem to be her coworkers.

What the heck???????

Mixed Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> She looks like a crazy psycho white girl that will
> end up with a black man...because her expiration
> date is past due


+1

She just needs to put on another 40 - 60 pounds and she will be prime negro material.

A message for Women... Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I left the love of my life because I thought I
> could do better. Now I'm childless and alone at
> 42
>
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2263518/
> I-left-love-life-I-thought-I-better-Now-Im-childle
> ss-42.html#ixzz2t2R1iSvk
>
> Laughing and dancing with my fiance at our
> engagement party, I thought I might actually burst
> with happiness.
>
> Surrounded by our family and friends, I looked at
> Matthew and felt certain I had met the man I was
> going to spend the rest of my life with.
>
> Quite simply, he was my soulmate.
> It all seemed so simple to my naïve, 19-year-old
> self. I was, I smugly told myself, the girl who
> had it all.
>
> So why, 20 years later, do I find myself single,
> childless and tormented by the fact that I have
> thrown away the only true chance of happiness I
> ever had?
>
> Eight years after that wonderful engagement party
> in 1989, I walked away from dear, devoted, loyal
> Matthew, convinced that somewhere out there, a
> better, more exciting, more fulfilling life
> awaited me.
>
> Only there wasn't.
>
> Now I am 42 and have all the trappings of success
> - a high-flying career, financial security and a
> home in the heart of London's trendy Notting Hill.
> But I don't have the one thing I crave more than
> anything: a loving husband and family.
>
> 'My father warned me not to throw this love away.
> But I was sure I'd find Mr Perfect around the
> corner'
>
> You see, I never did find another man who offered
> everything Matthew did, who understood me and
> loved me like he did. Someone who was my best
> friend as well as my lover.
>
> Today, seeing friends with their children around
> them tortures me, as I know I am unlikely ever to
> have a family of my own. I think about the times
> Matthew and I talked about having children, even
> discussing the names we would choose. I cannot
> believe I turned my back on so much happiness.
>
> Instead, here I am back on the singles market,
> looking for the very thing I discarded with barely
> a backward glance all those years ago.
>
> I know I can't have Matthew back, and it hurts
> when I hear snippets of information about his life
> and how content he is. Fifteen years after I ended
> our relationship, he is happily married.
>
> At this time of year, so many people will be
> assessing their lives and relationships, wondering
> if the grass is greener on the other side. Many
> will mistake contentment for boredom, forgetting
> to cherish the good things they have. I would urge
> those who are considering walking away from such
> riches to think again.
>
> How different things would be for me now if only
> I'd listened to Matthew when he pleaded with me
> not to leave him in 1997, tears pouring down his
> face. I was crying too, and it tortured me to
> watch the heart of the man I loved breaking in
> front of me. But I was resolute.
>
> Let's tryagain!
>
> Thirty-three per cent of adults said they’d
> reunite with their first love if they could, says
> one study.
>
> 'One day I might look back and realise I've made
> the biggest mistake of my life,' I told him as we
> clung to each other desperately. How prophetic
> those words have proven to be.
>
> 'I will always be here for you,' Matthew promised.
> And I, arrogantly, thought that somehow I could
> put him on ice and return to him.
>
> Matthew and I met when we attended the same
> comprehensive school in Essex. We started dating
> just before Christmas 1987 when I was 17 and
> studying for my A-levels. By that time he had left
> school and was working as a motorcycle courier.
>
> We got on like a house on fire, and our families
> each supported the relationship. Before long, we
> had fallen in love. Matthew was romantic but
> incredibly practical, something that would later
> come to annoy me. His gifts to me that Christmas
> were a leather jacket - and a pair of thermal
> leggings.
>
> While she still loved him, Karen began to feel
> embarrassed by Matthew's blue-collar jobs
>
> Two weeks later, when we'd been seeing each other
> for less than a month, he proposed. We were in my
> little Mini Clubman when he shouted at me to stop
> the car. Scared something was wrong, I braked in
> the middle of traffic and we both jumped out.
>
> Then, oblivious to the other drivers beeping their
> horns, he got down on one knee in the middle of
> the road. 'I love you, Karen Cross,' he said.
> 'Promise you'll marry me one day.' I laughed and
> said yes, thrilled that he felt the same way that
> I did.
>
> In the summer of 1989, while out for a romantic
> meal, Matthew proposed properly with a diamond
> solitaire ring. Two months later, we held our
> engagement party for 40 friends and family at the
> little house we were renting at the time.
>
> The following year, we bought a tiny starter home
> in Grays, Essex, which we moved into with
> furniture we had begged, borrowed and stolen. We
> giggled with delight at the thought of this
> grown-up new life.
>
> I was in my first junior role at a women's
> magazine and Matthew worked fitting tyres and
> exhausts, so our combined salaries of around
> £15,000 a year meant we struggled to make the
> mortgage payments. But we didn't care, telling
> ourselves that it wouldn't be long before we were
> earning more and able to afford weekly treats and
> a bigger home where we could bring up the babies
> we had planned.
>
> But then, the housing market crashed and we were
> plunged into negative equity.
>
> Struggling should have brought us closer together,
> and at first it did. But as time went on, and my
> magazine career - and salary - advanced, I started
> to resent Matthew as he drifted from one dead-end
> job to another.
>
> Karen stopped appreciating little things he did,
> like leaving romantic notes on the pillow
>
> I still loved him, but I began to feel embarrassed
> by his blue-collar jobs, annoyed that, despite his
> intelligence, he didn't have a career. Then he
> bought a lurid blue and pink VW Beetle.
>
> Why couldn't he drive a normal car? Things that
> now seem incredibly insignificant began to
> niggle.
>
> I began to wish he was more sophisticated and
> earned more. I felt envious of friends with
> better-off partners, who were able to support them
> as they started their families.
>
> I stopped seeing Matthew as my equal. I stopped
> seeing all the qualities that had made me fall in
> love with him - his fierce intelligence, our
> shared sense of humour, his determination not to
> follow the crowd. Instead, I saw someone who was
> holding me back.
>
> 'I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls'
>
> I encouraged him to find a career and was thrilled
> when he was accepted to join the police in 1995.
> It should have heralded a new chapter in our
> lives, but it only hastened the end. We went from
> spending every evening and weekend together, to
> hardly seeing one another. Matthew was doing
> round-the-clock shifts, while I worked long hours
> on the launch of a new magazine.
>
> Our sex life had dwindled and nights out together
> were rare. I stopped appreciating little things he
> did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow or
> scouring secondhand bookshops for novels he knew
> I'd love. He was my best friend, yet I took him
> totally for granted.
>
> After festering for weeks about his shortcomings,
> I told Matthew I was leaving. We spent hours
> talking and crying as he tried to convince me to
> stay, but I was adamant.
>
> My parents were horrified that I was walking away
> from a man they felt was right for me. My father's
> words to me that day continue to haunt me. 'Karen,
> think carefully about what you're doing. There's a
> lot to be said for someone who truly loves you.'
>
> But, I refused to listen, convinced there would be
> another, better Mr Right waiting around the
> corner.
>
> I moved into a rented flat a few miles away in
> Hornchurch, Essex, and embraced single life with a
> vengeance. By now I was an editor on a national
> magazine. Life was one long round of premieres and
> dinner or drinks parties.
>
> Matthew and I remained close, even telling each
> other about new relationships. But though I'd
> dumped him, I never felt the women he met were
> good enough. I can see now I was acting out of
> jealousy. I clearly wanted to keep him for
> myself.
>
> Our closeness was, however, called to a halt in
> 2000 when he met his first serious girlfriend
> after me, Sara.
>
> One night shortly after his 34th birthday, I
> phoned to ask his advice about something.
>
> Matthew was unusually abrupt and asked me not to
> call him again. 'Please don't send me birthday or
> Christmas cards any more either. Sara opened your
> card last week and was really upset. I have to put
> her feelings first.'
>
> I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls.
>
> I was completely irrational. I didn't want Matthew
> back, but felt upstaged by Sara.
>
> Unsurprisingly, after one particularly nasty
> argument, Matthew put the phone down and refused
> to take any more of my calls. I didn't realise it
> at the time, but I would never speak to him
> again.
>
> Shortly afterwards, I met Richard. It was a
> whirlwind romance, and within a year we were
> engaged and buying an idyllic farmhouse in the
> Norfolk countryside while I continued my
> journalistic career, commuting to London.
>
> He was a successful singer and, as we toured the
> country, I thought I had finally found the
> excitement and love that I craved.
>
> But Matthew was never far from my thoughts, and
> Richard complained that I often brought him into
> conversations, even comparing them both.
>
> They were so different. Although outwardly
> romantic, Richard was repeatedly unfaithful, and I
> never felt secure enough to start a family with
> him. Eventually, after three-and-a-half years
> together, he walked out, having admitted his
> latest paramour was pregnant by him.
>
> My life fell apart. Over the next year, I
> struggled to pull myself back together and did a
> lot of soul-searching. I finally understood what
> my father had meant. I realised Matthew was the
> only person who had loved and understood me.
>
> When I heard through a mutual friend that he had
> split up with Sara, I wrote to him, apologising
> and asking for forgiveness - and a second chance.
> It was six years since we had last spoken, but
> naively I thought he would want to hear from me.
>
> What I didn't know was that Sara was still living
> at the house and it was she who opened my very
> personal letter. It included my phone number, and
> she left me several angry, hurtful voicemails.
>
> Yet again, I had inadvertently caused problems in
> Matthew's life, so it was unsurprising I never
> heard from him, despite writing several times over
> the next few months. In the end, I left it at
> birthday and Christmas cards, thinking he'd find a
> way to get in touch if he ever changed his mind.
>
> Then, I heard a couple of years ago Matthew had
> married his new partner, Nicola. For a few moments
> I couldn't breathe, then the tears came.
>
> Matthew and Nicola still live in Essex and, as far
> as I know, don't yet have children. That's the
> next milestone I truly dread.
>
> It's been 11 years since Matthew and I last spoke,
> and I have to accept that door has closed.
>
> Perhaps he has found what he is looking for and I
> am a distant memory.
>
> I have had one other significant relationship
> since Richard - with Rob - but that recently ended
> after four years. Rob reminded me a lot of
> Matthew. He was decent and honourable, the life
> and soul of the party but with a kind and
> sensitive side.
>
> But we were each too jaded by previous heartbreak
> to make it work. And while I wanted children, he
> had a grown-up son and didn't want to start over
> again.
> So once again I am on my own, my mind full of
> 'if-onlys'. If only I'd stayed with Matthew, we'd
> almost certainly be married with children.
>
> Or, maybe Matthew wasn't the right man. I will
> never know the answer, but my decision to leave
> him has definitely cost me the chance of ever
> becoming a mother.
>
> Now I can only look back and admonish my selfish,
> younger self. When I visit friends and family back
> in our home town, I can't help but hope I'll bump
> into Matthew.
>
> I'd like to think I'd say sorry. That I will
> always be there for him. But I wouldn't be
> surprised if he turned his back on me and kept
> walking.
>
> To those out there thinking of walking away from
> humdrum relationships, I would say don't mistake
> contentment for unhappiness, as I did. It could be
> a choice you'll regret for the rest of your life.

hey guys can i quote the entire article too?

Ohmagawd that is just so tragic. That poor woman. She could have married Mr. Meh and had lots of Meh kids and lived ever after in Mehville.

MATTHEW!!!! If you're still out there!!!! It is not too late!!!!

She "walked away" from Matthew 8 YEARS after their engagement party. Hahahahaha.

Since then Matthew has been married how many times?? Uh, I wouldn't wait on Matthew, lol.

1. What a CUNT
2. You did Matthew the greatest favor of his life.
3. The reason you have never found another mate (see #1)
4. Time has passed and now you are an ugly Cunt
5. Women always think there is a better man out there but most will cheat around till they find him before leaving a relationship. This makes you a Stupid Cunt.
6. Matthew and pretty much all the rest of us men are now laughing at you.
7. Buy a cat or you will die alone - just kidding cats dont count you will die alone anyway.

Jimmy Page is single.

Wait your gem of information is dont leave someone you love, someone kind and loving because there 'might' be someone better? Now you are sad you dont have a family?What exactly did you think you had to offer to children let alone a husband?

Women...

A message for Women... Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I left the love of my life because I thought I
> could do better. Now I'm childless and alone at
> 42
>
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2263518/
> I-left-love-life-I-thought-I-better-Now-Im-childle
> ss-42.html#ixzz2t2R1iSvk
>
> Laughing and dancing with my fiance at our
> engagement party, I thought I might actually burst
> with happiness.
>
> Surrounded by our family and friends, I looked at
> Matthew and felt certain I had met the man I was
> going to spend the rest of my life with.
>
> Quite simply, he was my soulmate.
> It all seemed so simple to my naïve, 19-year-old
> self. I was, I smugly told myself, the girl who
> had it all.
>
> So why, 20 years later, do I find myself single,
> childless and tormented by the fact that I have
> thrown away the only true chance of happiness I
> ever had?
>
> Eight years after that wonderful engagement party
> in 1989, I walked away from dear, devoted, loyal
> Matthew, convinced that somewhere out there, a
> better, more exciting, more fulfilling life
> awaited me.
>
> Only there wasn't.
>
> Now I am 42 and have all the trappings of success
> - a high-flying career, financial security and a
> home in the heart of London's trendy Notting Hill.
> But I don't have the one thing I crave more than
> anything: a loving husband and family.
>
> 'My father warned me not to throw this love away.
> But I was sure I'd find Mr Perfect around the
> corner'
>
> You see, I never did find another man who offered
> everything Matthew did, who understood me and
> loved me like he did. Someone who was my best
> friend as well as my lover.
>
> Today, seeing friends with their children around
> them tortures me, as I know I am unlikely ever to
> have a family of my own. I think about the times
> Matthew and I talked about having children, even
> discussing the names we would choose. I cannot
> believe I turned my back on so much happiness.
>
> Instead, here I am back on the singles market,
> looking for the very thing I discarded with barely
> a backward glance all those years ago.
>
> I know I can't have Matthew back, and it hurts
> when I hear snippets of information about his life
> and how content he is. Fifteen years after I ended
> our relationship, he is happily married.
>
> At this time of year, so many people will be
> assessing their lives and relationships, wondering
> if the grass is greener on the other side. Many
> will mistake contentment for boredom, forgetting
> to cherish the good things they have. I would urge
> those who are considering walking away from such
> riches to think again.
>
> How different things would be for me now if only
> I'd listened to Matthew when he pleaded with me
> not to leave him in 1997, tears pouring down his
> face. I was crying too, and it tortured me to
> watch the heart of the man I loved breaking in
> front of me. But I was resolute.
>
> Let's tryagain!
>
> Thirty-three per cent of adults said they’d
> reunite with their first love if they could, says
> one study.
>
> 'One day I might look back and realise I've made
> the biggest mistake of my life,' I told him as we
> clung to each other desperately. How prophetic
> those words have proven to be.
>
> 'I will always be here for you,' Matthew promised.
> And I, arrogantly, thought that somehow I could
> put him on ice and return to him.
>
> Matthew and I met when we attended the same
> comprehensive school in Essex. We started dating
> just before Christmas 1987 when I was 17 and
> studying for my A-levels. By that time he had left
> school and was working as a motorcycle courier.
>
> We got on like a house on fire, and our families
> each supported the relationship. Before long, we
> had fallen in love. Matthew was romantic but
> incredibly practical, something that would later
> come to annoy me. His gifts to me that Christmas
> were a leather jacket - and a pair of thermal
> leggings.
>
> While she still loved him, Karen began to feel
> embarrassed by Matthew's blue-collar jobs
>
> Two weeks later, when we'd been seeing each other
> for less than a month, he proposed. We were in my
> little Mini Clubman when he shouted at me to stop
> the car. Scared something was wrong, I braked in
> the middle of traffic and we both jumped out.
>
> Then, oblivious to the other drivers beeping their
> horns, he got down on one knee in the middle of
> the road. 'I love you, Karen Cross,' he said.
> 'Promise you'll marry me one day.' I laughed and
> said yes, thrilled that he felt the same way that
> I did.
>
> In the summer of 1989, while out for a romantic
> meal, Matthew proposed properly with a diamond
> solitaire ring. Two months later, we held our
> engagement party for 40 friends and family at the
> little house we were renting at the time.
>
> The following year, we bought a tiny starter home
> in Grays, Essex, which we moved into with
> furniture we had begged, borrowed and stolen. We
> giggled with delight at the thought of this
> grown-up new life.
>
> I was in my first junior role at a women's
> magazine and Matthew worked fitting tyres and
> exhausts, so our combined salaries of around
> £15,000 a year meant we struggled to make the
> mortgage payments. But we didn't care, telling
> ourselves that it wouldn't be long before we were
> earning more and able to afford weekly treats and
> a bigger home where we could bring up the babies
> we had planned.
>
> But then, the housing market crashed and we were
> plunged into negative equity.
>
> Struggling should have brought us closer together,
> and at first it did. But as time went on, and my
> magazine career - and salary - advanced, I started
> to resent Matthew as he drifted from one dead-end
> job to another.
>
> Karen stopped appreciating little things he did,
> like leaving romantic notes on the pillow
>
> I still loved him, but I began to feel embarrassed
> by his blue-collar jobs, annoyed that, despite his
> intelligence, he didn't have a career. Then he
> bought a lurid blue and pink VW Beetle.
>
> Why couldn't he drive a normal car? Things that
> now seem incredibly insignificant began to
> niggle.
>
> I began to wish he was more sophisticated and
> earned more. I felt envious of friends with
> better-off partners, who were able to support them
> as they started their families.
>
> I stopped seeing Matthew as my equal. I stopped
> seeing all the qualities that had made me fall in
> love with him - his fierce intelligence, our
> shared sense of humour, his determination not to
> follow the crowd. Instead, I saw someone who was
> holding me back.
>
> 'I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls'
>
> I encouraged him to find a career and was thrilled
> when he was accepted to join the police in 1995.
> It should have heralded a new chapter in our
> lives, but it only hastened the end. We went from
> spending every evening and weekend together, to
> hardly seeing one another. Matthew was doing
> round-the-clock shifts, while I worked long hours
> on the launch of a new magazine.
>
> Our sex life had dwindled and nights out together
> were rare. I stopped appreciating little things he
> did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow or
> scouring secondhand bookshops for novels he knew
> I'd love. He was my best friend, yet I took him
> totally for granted.
>
> After festering for weeks about his shortcomings,
> I told Matthew I was leaving. We spent hours
> talking and crying as he tried to convince me to
> stay, but I was adamant.
>
> My parents were horrified that I was walking away
> from a man they felt was right for me. My father's
> words to me that day continue to haunt me. 'Karen,
> think carefully about what you're doing. There's a
> lot to be said for someone who truly loves you.'
>
> But, I refused to listen, convinced there would be
> another, better Mr Right waiting around the
> corner.
>
> I moved into a rented flat a few miles away in
> Hornchurch, Essex, and embraced single life with a
> vengeance. By now I was an editor on a national
> magazine. Life was one long round of premieres and
> dinner or drinks parties.
>
> Matthew and I remained close, even telling each
> other about new relationships. But though I'd
> dumped him, I never felt the women he met were
> good enough. I can see now I was acting out of
> jealousy. I clearly wanted to keep him for
> myself.
>
> Our closeness was, however, called to a halt in
> 2000 when he met his first serious girlfriend
> after me, Sara.
>
> One night shortly after his 34th birthday, I
> phoned to ask his advice about something.
>
> Matthew was unusually abrupt and asked me not to
> call him again. 'Please don't send me birthday or
> Christmas cards any more either. Sara opened your
> card last week and was really upset. I have to put
> her feelings first.'
>
> I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls.
>
> I was completely irrational. I didn't want Matthew
> back, but felt upstaged by Sara.
>
> Unsurprisingly, after one particularly nasty
> argument, Matthew put the phone down and refused
> to take any more of my calls. I didn't realise it
> at the time, but I would never speak to him
> again.
>
> Shortly afterwards, I met Richard. It was a
> whirlwind romance, and within a year we were
> engaged and buying an idyllic farmhouse in the
> Norfolk countryside while I continued my
> journalistic career, commuting to London.
>
> He was a successful singer and, as we toured the
> country, I thought I had finally found the
> excitement and love that I craved.
>
> But Matthew was never far from my thoughts, and
> Richard complained that I often brought him into
> conversations, even comparing them both.
>
> They were so different. Although outwardly
> romantic, Richard was repeatedly unfaithful, and I
> never felt secure enough to start a family with
> him. Eventually, after three-and-a-half years
> together, he walked out, having admitted his
> latest paramour was pregnant by him.
>
> My life fell apart. Over the next year, I
> struggled to pull myself back together and did a
> lot of soul-searching. I finally understood what
> my father had meant. I realised Matthew was the
> only person who had loved and understood me.
>
> When I heard through a mutual friend that he had
> split up with Sara, I wrote to him, apologising
> and asking for forgiveness - and a second chance.
> It was six years since we had last spoken, but
> naively I thought he would want to hear from me.
>
> What I didn't know was that Sara was still living
> at the house and it was she who opened my very
> personal letter. It included my phone number, and
> she left me several angry, hurtful voicemails.
>
> Yet again, I had inadvertently caused problems in
> Matthew's life, so it was unsurprising I never
> heard from him, despite writing several times over
> the next few months. In the end, I left it at
> birthday and Christmas cards, thinking he'd find a
> way to get in touch if he ever changed his mind.
>
> Then, I heard a couple of years ago Matthew had
> married his new partner, Nicola. For a few moments
> I couldn't breathe, then the tears came.
>
> Matthew and Nicola still live in Essex and, as far
> as I know, don't yet have children. That's the
> next milestone I truly dread.
>
> It's been 11 years since Matthew and I last spoke,
> and I have to accept that door has closed.
>
> Perhaps he has found what he is looking for and I
> am a distant memory.
>
> I have had one other significant relationship
> since Richard - with Rob - but that recently ended
> after four years. Rob reminded me a lot of
> Matthew. He was decent and honourable, the life
> and soul of the party but with a kind and
> sensitive side.
>
> But we were each too jaded by previous heartbreak
> to make it work. And while I wanted children, he
> had a grown-up son and didn't want to start over
> again.
> So once again I am on my own, my mind full of
> 'if-onlys'. If only I'd stayed with Matthew, we'd
> almost certainly be married with children.
>
> Or, maybe Matthew wasn't the right man. I will
> never know the answer, but my decision to leave
> him has definitely cost me the chance of ever
> becoming a mother.
>
> Now I can only look back and admonish my selfish,
> younger self. When I visit friends and family back
> in our home town, I can't help but hope I'll bump
> into Matthew.
>
> I'd like to think I'd say sorry. That I will
> always be there for him. But I wouldn't be
> surprised if he turned his back on me and kept
> walking.
>
> To those out there thinking of walking away from
> humdrum relationships, I would say don't mistake
> contentment for unhappiness, as I did. It could be
> a choice you'll regret for the rest of your life.

off topic

TL;DR

whiny little bitch. shes the kind of cunt who would be whining even if she had a family about how she gave up a carreer and shit...

This is the real reason she's single - look how horrible she looks in another Daily Mail article!

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2255828/I-spent-5-000-look-10-years-younger-One-womans-quest-turn-clock-decade-stress-hectic-living.html

She was ugly, lousy in bed, and didn't know how to make my sandwich. Thank God I didn't end up with her!

Laser Hit Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> It would take a man with a heart of stone to read
> this story and not burst into peals of laughter.
>
> Stupid bitch...you reap what you sow...

...And what a sow she is!
Attachments:

This is what she looked like all those years ago...

Happier times: Karen Cross with her former partner Matthew, who she thought was 'the one'.
Attachments:

Chances are that if she wasn't mature enough to recognize what a great catch he was at the time, by staying with him she would have ended up making him miserable and a person she wouldn't want to be with today.

Looking at the pictures this chick could have fooled beer goggles once or twice but look at those arms and gums - yuck. Nature deals her the not uncommon trick of looking okay one decade to looking positively old and gross the next. Ladies, look around, this is the norm for females. Women dont age gracefully. Men arent much better but they certainly are somewhat better.

Ladies you are not as hot as you think you are now and if you are over 40, well you know the truth and its not pretty. I think this chicks message is on point even though she has fooled herself into thinking she was ever a kind person. The scary fact for her is regardless of how she looked/looks she was and always will be shallow and unattractive on the inside...

What I didn't know was that Sara was still living at the house and it was she who opened my very personal letter
Fuck her, she sounds like a dumb cunt. Honestly if a chick is that intrusive into a man's life, by opening my mail,and answering my damn phone calls, than he really needs to reavaluate his life. Both of these people sound like idiots, as he was a bum, and she couldn't realize what was good for her. She should just start using weed like everyone else, then go out and find herself a slightly younger man with a car, job, and phisical attributes. She sounds like she made a mistake, and even today is continuing to make the same mistake, by dwelling on the man she lost. The major problem with life, is that nostalga sometimes negates, the problems that you really may have had with your relationship

Sounds like she was stalking him after she dumped him. I know what Santa brought her for Christmas...A Stocking full of regrets.

"Sounds like she was stalking him after she dumped him. I know what Santa brought her for Christmas...A Stocking full of regrets."
Totally, however she really needs to get on with her life. He really didn't look to great in the pictures, kinda like a drunken bum. She has a steady job, thus she should be able to find a man, if she were to get on with her life and find somebody to sex her up all good like. Than she would forget about this Matthew before you could say "Fuck him". She sounds like a nice lady with a good job, just a problem when it comes to remembering all the good times and forgetting the fact that she was unhappy with him. She should go on a dating site, or go to bars and upper class establishments. Once she gets her man, then her disease of general bitchieness should subside.

Oh or adopt a kid/ dog, she will forget about him really quick if she has something to love and take her attention away from her problems

BUTT SLASHER Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Totally, however she really needs to get on
> with her life. He really didn't look to great in
> the pictures, kinda like a drunken bum. She has a
> steady job, thus she should be able to find a man,
> if she were to get on with her life and find
> somebody to sex her up all good like. Than she
> would forget about this Matthew before you could
> say "Fuck him". She sounds like a nice lady with
> a good job, just a problem when it comes to
> remembering all the good times and forgetting the
> fact that she was unhappy with him. She should go
> on a dating site, or go to bars and upper class
> establishments. Once she gets her man, then her
> disease of general bitchieness should subside.

I think she broke up with him because his face is so pixelated. LOL!
Attachments:

Move on. Andrew was prolly a wanker anyway. People tend to build up people they aren't with anymore. I am sure you can get laid.

DxYGU Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> This is what she looked like all those years
> ago...
>
> Happier times: Karen Cross with her former partner
> Matthew, who she thought was 'the one'.

She got engaged to him when she was 19 and then was with him for 8 more years until she walked away at 27. Hard to say for sure but Matthew looks like an older gent in that picture.

Sounds a lot like Alias' story. Childless, alone, middle aged, bitter.

She's so pathetic, even Taco Cat wouldn't touch her.
Attachments:

.
Attachments:

She looks like she's longing for some penis.

What a pointless story. She didn't listen to anyone who knew better, what makes her think anyone would listen to her....oh, that's right. She's a narcissist. Kinda ironic.

A message for Women... Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I left the love of my life because I thought I
> could do better. Now I'm childless and alone at
> 42
>
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2263518/
> I-left-love-life-I-thought-I-better-Now-Im-childle
> ss-42.html#ixzz2t2R1iSvk
>
> Laughing and dancing with my fiance at our
> engagement party, I thought I might actually burst
> with happiness.
>
> Surrounded by our family and friends, I looked at
> Matthew and felt certain I had met the man I was
> going to spend the rest of my life with.
>
> Quite simply, he was my soulmate.
> It all seemed so simple to my naïve, 19-year-old
> self. I was, I smugly told myself, the girl who
> had it all.
>
> So why, 20 years later, do I find myself single,
> childless and tormented by the fact that I have
> thrown away the only true chance of happiness I
> ever had?
>
> Eight years after that wonderful engagement party
> in 1989, I walked away from dear, devoted, loyal
> Matthew, convinced that somewhere out there, a
> better, more exciting, more fulfilling life
> awaited me.
>
> Only there wasn't.
>
> Now I am 42 and have all the trappings of success
> - a high-flying career, financial security and a
> home in the heart of London's trendy Notting Hill.
> But I don't have the one thing I crave more than
> anything: a loving husband and family.
>
> 'My father warned me not to throw this love away.
> But I was sure I'd find Mr Perfect around the
> corner'
>
> You see, I never did find another man who offered
> everything Matthew did, who understood me and
> loved me like he did. Someone who was my best
> friend as well as my lover.
>
> Today, seeing friends with their children around
> them tortures me, as I know I am unlikely ever to
> have a family of my own. I think about the times
> Matthew and I talked about having children, even
> discussing the names we would choose. I cannot
> believe I turned my back on so much happiness.
>
> Instead, here I am back on the singles market,
> looking for the very thing I discarded with barely
> a backward glance all those years ago.
>
> I know I can't have Matthew back, and it hurts
> when I hear snippets of information about his life
> and how content he is. Fifteen years after I ended
> our relationship, he is happily married.
>
> At this time of year, so many people will be
> assessing their lives and relationships, wondering
> if the grass is greener on the other side. Many
> will mistake contentment for boredom, forgetting
> to cherish the good things they have. I would urge
> those who are considering walking away from such
> riches to think again.
>
> How different things would be for me now if only
> I'd listened to Matthew when he pleaded with me
> not to leave him in 1997, tears pouring down his
> face. I was crying too, and it tortured me to
> watch the heart of the man I loved breaking in
> front of me. But I was resolute.
>
> Let's tryagain!
>
> Thirty-three per cent of adults said they’d
> reunite with their first love if they could, says
> one study.
>
> 'One day I might look back and realise I've made
> the biggest mistake of my life,' I told him as we
> clung to each other desperately. How prophetic
> those words have proven to be.
>
> 'I will always be here for you,' Matthew promised.
> And I, arrogantly, thought that somehow I could
> put him on ice and return to him.
>
> Matthew and I met when we attended the same
> comprehensive school in Essex. We started dating
> just before Christmas 1987 when I was 17 and
> studying for my A-levels. By that time he had left
> school and was working as a motorcycle courier.
>
> We got on like a house on fire, and our families
> each supported the relationship. Before long, we
> had fallen in love. Matthew was romantic but
> incredibly practical, something that would later
> come to annoy me. His gifts to me that Christmas
> were a leather jacket - and a pair of thermal
> leggings.
>
> While she still loved him, Karen began to feel
> embarrassed by Matthew's blue-collar jobs
>
> Two weeks later, when we'd been seeing each other
> for less than a month, he proposed. We were in my
> little Mini Clubman when he shouted at me to stop
> the car. Scared something was wrong, I braked in
> the middle of traffic and we both jumped out.
>
> Then, oblivious to the other drivers beeping their
> horns, he got down on one knee in the middle of
> the road. 'I love you, Karen Cross,' he said.
> 'Promise you'll marry me one day.' I laughed and
> said yes, thrilled that he felt the same way that
> I did.
>
> In the summer of 1989, while out for a romantic
> meal, Matthew proposed properly with a diamond
> solitaire ring. Two months later, we held our
> engagement party for 40 friends and family at the
> little house we were renting at the time.
>
> The following year, we bought a tiny starter home
> in Grays, Essex, which we moved into with
> furniture we had begged, borrowed and stolen. We
> giggled with delight at the thought of this
> grown-up new life.
>
> I was in my first junior role at a women's
> magazine and Matthew worked fitting tyres and
> exhausts, so our combined salaries of around
> £15,000 a year meant we struggled to make the
> mortgage payments. But we didn't care, telling
> ourselves that it wouldn't be long before we were
> earning more and able to afford weekly treats and
> a bigger home where we could bring up the babies
> we had planned.
>
> But then, the housing market crashed and we were
> plunged into negative equity.
>
> Struggling should have brought us closer together,
> and at first it did. But as time went on, and my
> magazine career - and salary - advanced, I started
> to resent Matthew as he drifted from one dead-end
> job to another.
>
> Karen stopped appreciating little things he did,
> like leaving romantic notes on the pillow
>
> I still loved him, but I began to feel embarrassed
> by his blue-collar jobs, annoyed that, despite his
> intelligence, he didn't have a career. Then he
> bought a lurid blue and pink VW Beetle.
>
> Why couldn't he drive a normal car? Things that
> now seem incredibly insignificant began to
> niggle.
>
> I began to wish he was more sophisticated and
> earned more. I felt envious of friends with
> better-off partners, who were able to support them
> as they started their families.
>
> I stopped seeing Matthew as my equal. I stopped
> seeing all the qualities that had made me fall in
> love with him - his fierce intelligence, our
> shared sense of humour, his determination not to
> follow the crowd. Instead, I saw someone who was
> holding me back.
>
> 'I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls'
>
> I encouraged him to find a career and was thrilled
> when he was accepted to join the police in 1995.
> It should have heralded a new chapter in our
> lives, but it only hastened the end. We went from
> spending every evening and weekend together, to
> hardly seeing one another. Matthew was doing
> round-the-clock shifts, while I worked long hours
> on the launch of a new magazine.
>
> Our sex life had dwindled and nights out together
> were rare. I stopped appreciating little things he
> did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow or
> scouring secondhand bookshops for novels he knew
> I'd love. He was my best friend, yet I took him
> totally for granted.
>
> After festering for weeks about his shortcomings,
> I told Matthew I was leaving. We spent hours
> talking and crying as he tried to convince me to
> stay, but I was adamant.
>
> My parents were horrified that I was walking away
> from a man they felt was right for me. My father's
> words to me that day continue to haunt me. 'Karen,
> think carefully about what you're doing. There's a
> lot to be said for someone who truly loves you.'
>
> But, I refused to listen, convinced there would be
> another, better Mr Right waiting around the
> corner.
>
> I moved into a rented flat a few miles away in
> Hornchurch, Essex, and embraced single life with a
> vengeance. By now I was an editor on a national
> magazine. Life was one long round of premieres and
> dinner or drinks parties.
>
> Matthew and I remained close, even telling each
> other about new relationships. But though I'd
> dumped him, I never felt the women he met were
> good enough. I can see now I was acting out of
> jealousy. I clearly wanted to keep him for
> myself.
>
> Our closeness was, however, called to a halt in
> 2000 when he met his first serious girlfriend
> after me, Sara.
>
> One night shortly after his 34th birthday, I
> phoned to ask his advice about something.
>
> Matthew was unusually abrupt and asked me not to
> call him again. 'Please don't send me birthday or
> Christmas cards any more either. Sara opened your
> card last week and was really upset. I have to put
> her feelings first.'
>
> I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> another woman before me. How dare she come between
> us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say I
> vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> heated phone calls.
>
> I was completely irrational. I didn't want Matthew
> back, but felt upstaged by Sara.
>
> Unsurprisingly, after one particularly nasty
> argument, Matthew put the phone down and refused
> to take any more of my calls. I didn't realise it
> at the time, but I would never speak to him
> again.
>
> Shortly afterwards, I met Richard. It was a
> whirlwind romance, and within a year we were
> engaged and buying an idyllic farmhouse in the
> Norfolk countryside while I continued my
> journalistic career, commuting to London.
>
> He was a successful singer and, as we toured the
> country, I thought I had finally found the
> excitement and love that I craved.
>
> But Matthew was never far from my thoughts, and
> Richard complained that I often brought him into
> conversations, even comparing them both.
>
> They were so different. Although outwardly
> romantic, Richard was repeatedly unfaithful, and I
> never felt secure enough to start a family with
> him. Eventually, after three-and-a-half years
> together, he walked out, having admitted his
> latest paramour was pregnant by him.
>
> My life fell apart. Over the next year, I
> struggled to pull myself back together and did a
> lot of soul-searching. I finally understood what
> my father had meant. I realised Matthew was the
> only person who had loved and understood me.
>
> When I heard through a mutual friend that he had
> split up with Sara, I wrote to him, apologising
> and asking for forgiveness - and a second chance.
> It was six years since we had last spoken, but
> naively I thought he would want to hear from me.
>
> What I didn't know was that Sara was still living
> at the house and it was she who opened my very
> personal letter. It included my phone number, and
> she left me several angry, hurtful voicemails.
>
> Yet again, I had inadvertently caused problems in
> Matthew's life, so it was unsurprising I never
> heard from him, despite writing several times over
> the next few months. In the end, I left it at
> birthday and Christmas cards, thinking he'd find a
> way to get in touch if he ever changed his mind.
>
> Then, I heard a couple of years ago Matthew had
> married his new partner, Nicola. For a few moments
> I couldn't breathe, then the tears came.
>
> Matthew and Nicola still live in Essex and, as far
> as I know, don't yet have children. That's the
> next milestone I truly dread.
>
> It's been 11 years since Matthew and I last spoke,
> and I have to accept that door has closed.
>
> Perhaps he has found what he is looking for and I
> am a distant memory.
>
> I have had one other significant relationship
> since Richard - with Rob - but that recently ended
> after four years. Rob reminded me a lot of
> Matthew. He was decent and honourable, the life
> and soul of the party but with a kind and
> sensitive side.
>
> But we were each too jaded by previous heartbreak
> to make it work. And while I wanted children, he
> had a grown-up son and didn't want to start over
> again.
> So once again I am on my own, my mind full of
> 'if-onlys'. If only I'd stayed with Matthew, we'd
> almost certainly be married with children.
>
> Or, maybe Matthew wasn't the right man. I will
> never know the answer, but my decision to leave
> him has definitely cost me the chance of ever
> becoming a mother.
>
> Now I can only look back and admonish my selfish,
> younger self. When I visit friends and family back
> in our home town, I can't help but hope I'll bump
> into Matthew.
>
> I'd like to think I'd say sorry. That I will
> always be there for him. But I wouldn't be
> surprised if he turned his back on me and kept
> walking.
>
> To those out there thinking of walking away from
> humdrum relationships, I would say don't mistake
> contentment for unhappiness, as I did. It could be
> a choice you'll regret for the rest of your life.

Why do people keep quoting this entire boring story?

Stabitha Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> A message for Women... Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > I left the love of my life because I thought I
> > could do better. Now I'm childless and alone at
> > 42
> >
> >
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2263518/
>
> >
> I-left-love-life-I-thought-I-better-Now-Im-childle
>
> > ss-42.html#ixzz2t2R1iSvk
> >
> > Laughing and dancing with my fiance at our
> > engagement party, I thought I might actually
> burst
> > with happiness.
> >
> > Surrounded by our family and friends, I looked
> at
> > Matthew and felt certain I had met the man I
> was
> > going to spend the rest of my life with.
> >
> > Quite simply, he was my soulmate.
> > It all seemed so simple to my naïve,
> 19-year-old
> > self. I was, I smugly told myself, the girl who
> > had it all.
> >
> > So why, 20 years later, do I find myself
> single,
> > childless and tormented by the fact that I have
> > thrown away the only true chance of happiness I
> > ever had?
> >
> > Eight years after that wonderful engagement
> party
> > in 1989, I walked away from dear, devoted,
> loyal
> > Matthew, convinced that somewhere out there, a
> > better, more exciting, more fulfilling life
> > awaited me.
> >
> > Only there wasn't.
> >
> > Now I am 42 and have all the trappings of
> success
> > - a high-flying career, financial security and
> a
> > home in the heart of London's trendy Notting
> Hill.
> > But I don't have the one thing I crave more
> than
> > anything: a loving husband and family.
> >
> > 'My father warned me not to throw this love
> away.
> > But I was sure I'd find Mr Perfect around the
> > corner'
> >
> > You see, I never did find another man who
> offered
> > everything Matthew did, who understood me and
> > loved me like he did. Someone who was my best
> > friend as well as my lover.
> >
> > Today, seeing friends with their children
> around
> > them tortures me, as I know I am unlikely ever
> to
> > have a family of my own. I think about the
> times
> > Matthew and I talked about having children,
> even
> > discussing the names we would choose. I cannot
> > believe I turned my back on so much happiness.
> >
> > Instead, here I am back on the singles market,
> > looking for the very thing I discarded with
> barely
> > a backward glance all those years ago.
> >
> > I know I can't have Matthew back, and it hurts
> > when I hear snippets of information about his
> life
> > and how content he is. Fifteen years after I
> ended
> > our relationship, he is happily married.
> >
> > At this time of year, so many people will be
> > assessing their lives and relationships,
> wondering
> > if the grass is greener on the other side. Many
> > will mistake contentment for boredom,
> forgetting
> > to cherish the good things they have. I would
> urge
> > those who are considering walking away from
> such
> > riches to think again.
> >
> > How different things would be for me now if
> only
> > I'd listened to Matthew when he pleaded with me
> > not to leave him in 1997, tears pouring down
> his
> > face. I was crying too, and it tortured me to
> > watch the heart of the man I loved breaking in
> > front of me. But I was resolute.
> >
> > Let's tryagain!
> >
> > Thirty-three per cent of adults said they’d
> > reunite with their first love if they could,
> says
> > one study.
> >
> > 'One day I might look back and realise I've
> made
> > the biggest mistake of my life,' I told him as
> we
> > clung to each other desperately. How prophetic
> > those words have proven to be.
> >
> > 'I will always be here for you,' Matthew
> promised.
> > And I, arrogantly, thought that somehow I could
> > put him on ice and return to him.
> >
> > Matthew and I met when we attended the same
> > comprehensive school in Essex. We started
> dating
> > just before Christmas 1987 when I was 17 and
> > studying for my A-levels. By that time he had
> left
> > school and was working as a motorcycle courier.
> >
> > We got on like a house on fire, and our
> families
> > each supported the relationship. Before long,
> we
> > had fallen in love. Matthew was romantic but
> > incredibly practical, something that would
> later
> > come to annoy me. His gifts to me that
> Christmas
> > were a leather jacket - and a pair of thermal
> > leggings.
> >
> > While she still loved him, Karen began to feel
> > embarrassed by Matthew's blue-collar jobs
> >
> > Two weeks later, when we'd been seeing each
> other
> > for less than a month, he proposed. We were in
> my
> > little Mini Clubman when he shouted at me to
> stop
> > the car. Scared something was wrong, I braked
> in
> > the middle of traffic and we both jumped out.
> >
> > Then, oblivious to the other drivers beeping
> their
> > horns, he got down on one knee in the middle of
> > the road. 'I love you, Karen Cross,' he said.
> > 'Promise you'll marry me one day.' I laughed
> and
> > said yes, thrilled that he felt the same way
> that
> > I did.
> >
> > In the summer of 1989, while out for a romantic
> > meal, Matthew proposed properly with a diamond
> > solitaire ring. Two months later, we held our
> > engagement party for 40 friends and family at
> the
> > little house we were renting at the time.
> >
> > The following year, we bought a tiny starter
> home
> > in Grays, Essex, which we moved into with
> > furniture we had begged, borrowed and stolen.
> We
> > giggled with delight at the thought of this
> > grown-up new life.
> >
> > I was in my first junior role at a women's
> > magazine and Matthew worked fitting tyres and
> > exhausts, so our combined salaries of around
> > £15,000 a year meant we struggled to make the
> > mortgage payments. But we didn't care, telling
> > ourselves that it wouldn't be long before we
> were
> > earning more and able to afford weekly treats
> and
> > a bigger home where we could bring up the
> babies
> > we had planned.
> >
> > But then, the housing market crashed and we
> were
> > plunged into negative equity.
> >
> > Struggling should have brought us closer
> together,
> > and at first it did. But as time went on, and
> my
> > magazine career - and salary - advanced, I
> started
> > to resent Matthew as he drifted from one
> dead-end
> > job to another.
> >
> > Karen stopped appreciating little things he
> did,
> > like leaving romantic notes on the pillow
> >
> > I still loved him, but I began to feel
> embarrassed
> > by his blue-collar jobs, annoyed that, despite
> his
> > intelligence, he didn't have a career. Then he
> > bought a lurid blue and pink VW Beetle.
> >
> > Why couldn't he drive a normal car? Things that
> > now seem incredibly insignificant began to
> > niggle.
> >
> > I began to wish he was more sophisticated and
> > earned more. I felt envious of friends with
> > better-off partners, who were able to support
> them
> > as they started their families.
> >
> > I stopped seeing Matthew as my equal. I stopped
> > seeing all the qualities that had made me fall
> in
> > love with him - his fierce intelligence, our
> > shared sense of humour, his determination not
> to
> > follow the crowd. Instead, I saw someone who
> was
> > holding me back.
> >
> > 'I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> > another woman before me. How dare she come
> between
> > us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say
> I
> > vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> > heated phone calls'
> >
> > I encouraged him to find a career and was
> thrilled
> > when he was accepted to join the police in
> 1995.
> > It should have heralded a new chapter in our
> > lives, but it only hastened the end. We went
> from
> > spending every evening and weekend together, to
> > hardly seeing one another. Matthew was doing
> > round-the-clock shifts, while I worked long
> hours
> > on the launch of a new magazine.
> >
> > Our sex life had dwindled and nights out
> together
> > were rare. I stopped appreciating little things
> he
> > did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow
> or
> > scouring secondhand bookshops for novels he
> knew
> > I'd love. He was my best friend, yet I took him
> > totally for granted.
> >
> > After festering for weeks about his
> shortcomings,
> > I told Matthew I was leaving. We spent hours
> > talking and crying as he tried to convince me
> to
> > stay, but I was adamant.
> >
> > My parents were horrified that I was walking
> away
> > from a man they felt was right for me. My
> father's
> > words to me that day continue to haunt me.
> 'Karen,
> > think carefully about what you're doing. There's
> a
> > lot to be said for someone who truly loves you.'
>
> >
> > But, I refused to listen, convinced there would
> be
> > another, better Mr Right waiting around the
> > corner.
> >
> > I moved into a rented flat a few miles away in
> > Hornchurch, Essex, and embraced single life with
> a
> > vengeance. By now I was an editor on a national
> > magazine. Life was one long round of premieres
> and
> > dinner or drinks parties.
> >
> > Matthew and I remained close, even telling each
> > other about new relationships. But though I'd
> > dumped him, I never felt the women he met were
> > good enough. I can see now I was acting out of
> > jealousy. I clearly wanted to keep him for
> > myself.
> >
> > Our closeness was, however, called to a halt in
> > 2000 when he met his first serious girlfriend
> > after me, Sara.
> >
> > One night shortly after his 34th birthday, I
> > phoned to ask his advice about something.
> >
> > Matthew was unusually abrupt and asked me not
> to
> > call him again. 'Please don't send me birthday
> or
> > Christmas cards any more either. Sara opened
> your
> > card last week and was really upset. I have to
> put
> > her feelings first.'
> >
> > I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting
> > another woman before me. How dare she come
> between
> > us! Over the next few weeks, I'm ashamed to say
> I
> > vented my spleen at both of them in a series of
> > heated phone calls.
> >
> > I was completely irrational. I didn't want
> Matthew
> > back, but felt upstaged by Sara.
> >
> > Unsurprisingly, after one particularly nasty
> > argument, Matthew put the phone down and
> refused
> > to take any more of my calls. I didn't realise
> it
> > at the time, but I would never speak to him
> > again.
> >
> > Shortly afterwards, I met Richard. It was a
> > whirlwind romance, and within a year we were
> > engaged and buying an idyllic farmhouse in the
> > Norfolk countryside while I continued my
> > journalistic career, commuting to London.
> >
> > He was a successful singer and, as we toured
> the
> > country, I thought I had finally found the
> > excitement and love that I craved.
> >
> > But Matthew was never far from my thoughts, and
> > Richard complained that I often brought him
> into
> > conversations, even comparing them both.
> >
> > They were so different. Although outwardly
> > romantic, Richard was repeatedly unfaithful, and
> I
> > never felt secure enough to start a family with
> > him. Eventually, after three-and-a-half years
> > together, he walked out, having admitted his
> > latest paramour was pregnant by him.
> >
> > My life fell apart. Over the next year, I
> > struggled to pull myself back together and did
> a
> > lot of soul-searching. I finally understood
> what
> > my father had meant. I realised Matthew was the
> > only person who had loved and understood me.
> >
> > When I heard through a mutual friend that he
> had
> > split up with Sara, I wrote to him, apologising
> > and asking for forgiveness - and a second
> chance.
> > It was six years since we had last spoken, but
> > naively I thought he would want to hear from
> me.
> >
> > What I didn't know was that Sara was still
> living
> > at the house and it was she who opened my very
> > personal letter. It included my phone number,
> and
> > she left me several angry, hurtful voicemails.
> >
> > Yet again, I had inadvertently caused problems
> in
> > Matthew's life, so it was unsurprising I never
> > heard from him, despite writing several times
> over
> > the next few months. In the end, I left it at
> > birthday and Christmas cards, thinking he'd find
> a
> > way to get in touch if he ever changed his
> mind.
> >
> > Then, I heard a couple of years ago Matthew had
> > married his new partner, Nicola. For a few
> moments
> > I couldn't breathe, then the tears came.
> >
> > Matthew and Nicola still live in Essex and, as
> far
> > as I know, don't yet have children. That's the
> > next milestone I truly dread.
> >
> > It's been 11 years since Matthew and I last
> spoke,
> > and I have to accept that door has closed.
> >
> > Perhaps he has found what he is looking for and
> I
> > am a distant memory.
> >
> > I have had one other significant relationship
> > since Richard - with Rob - but that recently
> ended
> > after four years. Rob reminded me a lot of
> > Matthew. He was decent and honourable, the life
> > and soul of the party but with a kind and
> > sensitive side.
> >
> > But we were each too jaded by previous
> heartbreak
> > to make it work. And while I wanted children,
> he
> > had a grown-up son and didn't want to start
> over
> > again.
> > So once again I am on my own, my mind full of
> > 'if-onlys'. If only I'd stayed with Matthew,
> we'd
> > almost certainly be married with children.
> >
> > Or, maybe Matthew wasn't the right man. I will
> > never know the answer, but my decision to
> leave
> > him has definitely cost me the chance of ever
> > becoming a mother.
> >
> > Now I can only look back and admonish my
> selfish,
> > younger self. When I visit friends and family
> back
> > in our home town, I can't help but hope I'll
> bump
> > into Matthew.
> >
> > I'd like to think I'd say sorry. That I will
> > always be there for him. But I wouldn't be
> > surprised if he turned his back on me and kept
> > walking.
> >
> > To those out there thinking of walking away
> from
> > humdrum relationships, I would say don't
> mistake
> > contentment for unhappiness, as I did. It could
> be
> > a choice you'll regret for the rest of your
> life.
>
> Why do people keep quoting this entire boring
> story?

No fuckin clue why that is.

Here bitch listen to this song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EEW-9NDM5k

In my life, I have seen this story a dozen times; women who feel they are "special" and they deserve the best. They look down on most men during their prime years, and treat them like peons. Then, they wake up one morning at 40 years old, and there are no eligible suitors left.

The parents, treat these girls like princesses growing up, and, as young adults, these women expect the unattainable. When it doesn't happen, they whine about it throughout their forties.

The good news is their are plenty of these women for a 40 something divorced man to play around with.

sucks

There is still hope for Susan and for any woman who thinks about what might have been instead of what still can be. There is a great catch in Richmond, VA named Meade Skelton who is waiting to give you a lifetime of happiness and satisfaction. He is muscular, quite handsome and a very talented musician. Don't give up hope. Meade is only a YouTube comment or an email away. With Richmond's most eligible bachelor, Meade Skelton, your best days could still be ahead of you.

I know this topic is years old, but the point is still relevant.

I had a neighbor about 30 years old. She had been dating this guy for almost 3 years. He treated her very well and wanted to marry her. Only problem was that she wanted kids and he was absolutely opposed to kids. So she walked away. Less than two years later my neighbor was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She fought it for seven years before she died, alone. Chances are she never would have had kids. Because she made kids a deal breaker she threw away the love of her life, someone who could have supported her in her fight against cancer.

Turns out that the old line "Romantic partners are like Metro busses" is true. If you pass on one or choose to get off, there is no assurance there will be another one that will get you where you want to go.

You are where you want to be.

52

seems like a thousand. You are one lucky SOB. You just don't know because you can't have a comparison but trust me,,you're lucky.

I lost the love of my life to cancer. If you have a SO never take a day together for granted.

Hey! For much, much MORE FUN, click on the simple ass white sucka gettin her ass kicked!!

Hey! For much, much MORE FUN, click on the simple ass white sucka!

True Love is worth it.

shoeshine girl Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> What in the world does this have to do with
> Fairfax County???


It's in off-topic. And I just responded to a seven year old post. FUCK!

A soulmate should challenge one to move from selfishness to giving.

It’s the realization that this person who shares your life is a part of yourself.

Your soulmate is your fellow traveler on the journey of life—you need one another to grow beyond the limitations of your individual selves.

A knew an attractive lady in my 30's who wouldn't date a man unless he was at least 6'4". She's in her 50's now and she's still single. She's fat and she doesn't even date.

That plan backfired, big time.

He has a very based antebellum view of chivalry and marriage.
Attachments: