The Kid is preparing for a cross-state move to finish her college education. In time-honored tradition, I am attempting to foist off  offering any number of household items -the wicker chairs, that table from Ikea, the white dishes…

While pondering this process on my way home from work this evening, and wondering whether it was too soon to move an elliptical machine into her soon-to-be-vacated room, the following memory floated to mind:

Before I married Dr. T., I had a serious relationship with someone else. We’ll call him THE BOY GOD, for that is what I named him shortly after he abruptly dumped me three years or so into our life as a couple.

We lived together for most of those three years- a first for both of us. We were youngish; most of our belongings were hand-me-downs, and most of them were mine. He had moved in with me, after all.

We were youngish, but old enough that after three years, it might have been reasonable to make permanent plans. A month or so before my dumping, however, I noticed a change in THE BOY GOD’s behavior: he was quieter, distant. “What’s wrong,?” I would ask. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

This went on until the Fateful Friday he decided to tell me that he WASN”T HAPPY.

I’ll spare you the details, mainly because, mercifully, I’ve forgotten them. Except for this one, recalled today:

During the miserable week or so he took to move out, I bought myself a set of flatware- I guess to cheer myself up, or just because it was on sale. Who knows, now?

Guess what THE BOY GOD took with him when he moved out?

In retrospect, I have to give my younger, heartbroken, wimpy self credit for calling him on it. “Did you take the silverware I bought?” “Yeah, I guess so.”

I can’t remember the words I used at the time, but I will never forget the tone: “Why would I buy YOU new silverware?” (for dumping me?) He brought it back.