Meet MrsWrong

One must be a saint, or just as wrong as he is, to tolerate MrWrong. In all fairness, I'm a bit of both. 

Let me start at the beginning; our first "date".

It all started on Facebook. A "comment" here, a "like" there, and we end up making plans to hang out. I figured it was perfectly "safe" to hang out since he is really old and not at all my type. I drag my girlfriend along just to make certain he is not a creeper, and understands this is not a date.  (Big FAIL Nicky, by the way) So we go to the local pub, a hangout spot for him (by hangout spot, I mean he spent so much money there he single handedly paid the light bill and 1 bouncer's salary for a year. MrWrong loves him some rum!) Let me start by describing MrWrong's wardrobe. There are no words. I'll have to show you. He was wearing this shirt -

 

and these shoes.
 

Ya. Really. And I stayed.  That's the really amazing part.

Anywho, he's very entertaining and we're all having a good time when I excuse myself to the restroom. As I am exiting the bathroom, he shoves me back in and locks the door. I freeze, much like a scared little deer caught in the headlights of an 18 wheeler) Before I can react (he's quick for an old guy) he grabs me, tosses me on the sink, says "I'm sorry. I have to do this." and makes-out with me. For about 3 seconds, until the bouncer bangs on the door "You know the rules, Savio. One person at a time". It was so romantic. 

I realized I was in love when I didn't smack him. 

And that is how I became MrsWrong. Nice to meet you. Don't get too comfortable, I'm taking "the neighborhood" and this blog in the inevitable divorce.