When wildflowers lose their bloom

Somehow I missed the news. My friend Brat had to tell me. And apparently it's official. The engagement between Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong has ended.

Even though I confessed a major crush on Sheryl Crow a few months ago before her Portland concert and perhaps may have made a disparaging comment or two directed at Lance Armstrong, I can't exactly rejoice at this news.

For one thing, there is hardly a snowball's chance I'll ever meet Sheryl Crow, let alone realize the celebrity fantasy.

And for another thing, I can empathize with the situation Sheryl and Lance are going through. I don't know who is the wronged party here, or the more wronged party, but loving someone and not seeing that pledge of commitment fulfilled is painful. It fucking sucks.

And it can take a while to get over. I long while sometimes. So, I don't relish their separation. And I wasn't trying to curse their engagement in a previous post where I threatened (in jest, well, mostly) to thump on Lance Armstrong.

However, if by some weird fluke I should happen to win the Powerball lottery (which is now up to $210 million) and in the jet-setting travels that would ensue, I should happen to meet Sheryl, and she needs a shoulder to lean on and an empathetic ear and heart to hear her tale of woe, I would graciously make myself available. Hey, sometimes you just need someone to cry with until you can laugh, and live and love, again.

I think Brat would understand. Wouldn't she? Maybe concert tickets and a backstage pass would smooth things over.

Sheryl Crow
Lance Armstrong
Powerball lottery
Fantasy