My Miserable Rating

By Jim Hagarty

Many years ago, at the end of our one and only date, the young woman I had escorted to the movies turned to me, before she jumped out of the car, and declared, “You are the most miserable man I have ever met.”

This was a big and bitter pill to swallow. Especially since I thought I had been on my best behaviour. And given there was an entire two-hour chunk of silence between us while we watched the movie, how had there been enough time left over for me to reveal such extreme miserablness?

Later, I thought about this rather startling reaction from this nice young woman.

Here is what I concluded.

  1. She was possibly an excellent miserable detector. (I met her Dad. Yikes!)

  2. She had possibly not dated enough miserable men to draw such a definitive conclusion.

  3. Our date hadn’t gone that well.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.