Harry didn’t seem like the wrong guy at first. In fact, I found him quite charming. His presence lifted my heart, which was great considering he made my tears vanish. He took me to dinner, bought me the usual romantic stuff, and touched me in the usual romantic ways—hair, thigh, hair, lips, repeat where appropriate. The whole package felt wonderful for five straight months.
But one night, when we were planning our first exotic trip to the Bahamas together, his wedding ring fell out of his pocket.
I spent the next few days and nights crying on a different park bench, occasionally returning to my dingy apartment to erase my phone messages. Somewhere in that time I’d hoped another prince would come and rescue me, but I gave up when I concluded that all the charming ones had something gold and circular buried in their pockets.
So that was the time I went for total losers.