Straight man, don’t bother me
Straight man, don’t bother me
Straight man, don’t bother me
You don’t interest anybody

***

Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Men are but a dream

what

Ronald Stan’s life was starting to burn down around him, so when the big century-old barn full of pigs caught fire, he saw a chance to escape.
He’d been cheating on his wife — regularly — and in his mind his marriage was about to fall apart.
Amid the roar of the flames and squeal of the pigs, the 32-year-old father of two had a thought: Better to just leave. Sure, I have some debt but she’ll get the life insurance money.

what

It was 1977 when Stan bolted into the forest to begin a new life. Now, 37 years, three more wives and another child later, Stan’s world would turn to ash again. The Ontario Provincial Police discovered he was living in Oklahoma as Jeff Walton, a 69-year-old plumber with a wife and 35-year-old son. His family there had no knowledge of the barn fire, his disappearance, and the Canadian wife, toddler and newborn child left behind…
Gail Stan, Rose Ann Walton, Holly Kelley and Debra Proctor. These are the women who Walton married. He cheated on all of them, with the exception of Proctor, he’s careful to note.

Ruth Scobie’s previous work for The Toast can be found here.

If you were a lonely man in late eighteenth century London, “adapted to make a lady happy,” but too shy, busy, or damned chivalrous to actually speak to one, you could send an anonymous advertisement to a national newspaper appealing to the women you wanted to bang and/or marry. Posting an ad was quick – you dropped it off at the printer’s office, it was printed in a couple of days – and pretty cheap – around three shillings, or sometimes free. More importantly, it would give you the chance to explain to everyone your generous and honourable intentions, especially in contrast to the “intrigue, treachery and interest” of most men. 

Less often, newspapers offered opportunity to pressure your beloved with poetry, chase missed connections with strange ladies at the theatre who had totally given you the eye over their fans, or publicly harass women who refused to see you. Almost all adverts only appeared once, suggesting that they were either very, or not at all, effective.

(You must have known, though, that a woman responding to one of these adverts was running huge risks, not only of physical assault, but of a public shaming which would be at best embarrassing and at worst life-ruining. Adverts promised secrecy, but she would have to take your word for it that they weren’t hoaxes or blackmail scams, or that you wouldn’t respond to rejection by making her name public. If she did say yes, a wife was legally subject to her husband and all her property automatically became yours – hence all the romantic interest in prospective fortunes. If she did agree to “dispense with the Marriage Ceremony” or live with you without marrying first, the loss of her reputation could make her social and economic situation even more precarious, since you could ditch her, and any children she might have had with you, whenever you wanted.) Also, your poetry was terrible.

ON TO THE PERSONAL ADS. THEY ARE REAL.