"The Third Strings" -- Shelly Hartzog Wilkerson, Noreen Sloan Ring, and Charlene Simpson Arbogast.  "We're still friends," says "Shel".  "I live in Port Orchard, Washington, Noreen (who went to Hoover) lives in Fallbrook, and "Char" lives in Prescott, Arizona.

You asked for it! You might be sorry.

Welp… at the end of my junior year, Mumsie decided we were moving to San Gabriel Valley. Why? Because she wanted to buy a bar and get rich like her friends who bought a Country and Western bar in Pasadena and were makin’ bank. (Yeah, nothing screams financial security like neon beer signs.)  And while she was at it, she figured she’d break Glen and me up, because clearly the best way to secure your teenage daughter’s future is to marry her off like a prize heifer.  So she went shopping for a rich husband for me.

What she found was… a pathological liar, wife-beater, flat broke, and already disowned by his family. Real Prince Charming. What that jerk did to me after she moved him into our house was the main issue for the separation of Glen and I. It basically was quite traumatic and I was married off like in a Third World country. Book material. I lasted a year and three months. Long enough to have a baby and then think, “Nope, I’d rather live.” so I grabbed the little guy and we split.

My son was born with hydrocephalus. He had nine neuro-surgeries before he was 4 1/2. He’s 55 now, 100% fine, lives in North Carolina and has a family of his own. That kid is my greatest comeback story.

After that, I remarried. Had my wonderful daughter. Spent nine years in ophthalmology as a private scrub. And then, another divorce.

At that point, I just decided fine, I’ll be the independent crazy woman.

I somehow clawed my way into project scheduling and management. Because nothing says “fun” like being on the critical path and telling a big burly general foreman and engineers they’re late. I spent twenty years in nuclear power moving all over the country. And honestly? Nuclear fuel rods turned out to be less toxic than most of my exes.

Somewhere in there, I learned to fly a plane because apparently my love life wasn’t risky enough. Also bought a house in southern Jersey.

Of course, it wasn’t all work. I also had a little fishing boat out of San Luis Bay Harbor. Took her out to catch rock cod and ling cod. My favorite part was watching my friends chum over the sides in 9-foot swells while I popped a beer and reeled in dinner. Nothing bonds a friendship like green gills.

And hey, I even played golf. Which is basically just drinking outside while chasing a tiny ball into the woods. At least when I went fishing, I actually caught something.

Now, in between all this, there were… a couple more divorces. At some point, I thought, “You know what? They should really give me a punch card. Ten divorces and the next one’s free.” Finally,
I swore off men altogether. Never took a dime from any of them anyway. I was serious until I bumped into Wilkerson, again. And he said, “We’re getting married, right?“

And I said , “Well, yeah!”

At home in Port Orchard, Washington