EVERYONE ALWAYS ASKED me how Amanda and I met, and I would tell them, “We met the day she came into my dealership.” She was looking for something to commemorate her separation. People always use cars to commemorate things, certain cars being specific for certain occasions. Dads get their daughters Jettas when they go off to college. Parents get minivans or SUVs when they have that second kid. And divorcées get convertibles, like they think driving on the highway with the top down will wipe their husband’s stink off them.

On this particular day—it was a Tuesday; I remember because it was my day to bring in the donuts—Amanda came in all dressed up, looking like she’d spent some time on her outfit. I’ll admit, she was looking good, like a naughty businesswoman. She was wearing this tan dress that ended above her knees and this blouse with this pattern on it. I’ve never been one to really notice women’s clothing, but I couldn’t help noticing Amanda, especially since she had her top buttons unbuttoned. Later on, when we were talking, I saw a little bra.

One of my guys started walking up to her, and I cut him off, saying, “I got this one.” This wasn’t a regular practice of mine, stealing a sale from one of my guys, but I figured it was my name on the sign, so I could pretty much do whatever I wanted. And I usually did. So I went up to her and said, “Welcome to Drysdale Chrysler. Dennis Drysdale at your service.”

She gave me this look that told me she was suspicious of me, like Why’s the owner of the dealership coming over? Well, right off the bat, I knew Amanda wasn’t going to take any of my shit—which, let me tell you, really turned me on. I was trying to flirt with her, joking around a little, and she’d just look at me like I had jelly donut on my shirt. But here’s the thing with divorcées—they all love the attention. I could tell Amanda hadn’t had any in a while, so I poured it on some, and by the end of the test ride—I took her out in a top-of-the-line Porsche 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet convertible—she was eating it up.

That’s how I got her. I didn’t try to sell her a car—I swear, I didn’t. I just talked to her. That’s all it took. I could tell she needed someone to listen to her, someone to agree with whatever she said. She didn’t even buy a car. We took a test ride out to a coffee shop and just hung out and talked. We exchanged numbers; I said it was in case she wanted to look at other models, but she saw right through that line.

I tried to play it cool and wait the customary week and a half before calling, but I called her three days later—I just couldn’t wait—and we’d been together ever since.

Harry, on the other hand, that’s a different story. I’d known Harry since we were kids, but we weren’t friends or anything. We went to the same high school but ran in different circles. Harry was one of the smart kids, and I was on the football team. Apparently, we were both at IU at the same time, but with all the kids there, there’s no way I’d remember him. Really, I hadn’t seen Harry since we graduated high school. Well, a few months after Amanda and I started dating and it looked like things were getting serious, Amanda wanted me to meet her daughter, Sarah. We picked a neutral place, the El Gallo Calvo out on Third Street. I fully expected Sarah to not like me; I was, after all, the guy who was replacing her dad. But I underestimated her, because not long after we sat down, Harry showed up. Turned out, Sarah had invited him and didn’t tell anyone. She was seventeen at the time and probably thought embarrassing her mom in public by having her dad show up for dinner was the perfect revenge for splitting up their family. In retrospect, it was a pretty good prank.

Once Harry sat down, I immediately didn’t like him. The guy was completely delusional. And very full of himself. He started talking about some science shit that sounded like nonsense to me, saying how he was going to revolutionize the world. He would make comments about certain scientists, then ask me what I thought about their theories—obviously shit I didn’t know anything about—trying to make me look stupid. I didn’t fall for it. I just crossed my arms and said, “I’m not going to get into this with you, especially since you know I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I wasn’t going to fight a guy who looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week and smelled like mold. But he still kept on trying to bait me.

But that wasn’t the worst part. All through dinner, he kept looking at Amanda with these big eyes, like he was begging her to come back to him. It was obvious he was still in love with her. Most guys would have lost it over the way Harry was fawning all over her, but I did a good job keeping it together. It helped that Amanda was completely annoyed by him being there. After we left, Amanda apologized for Harry showing up like he did. I told her not to worry about it, that I wasn’t the jealous type, even though inside, every urge I had was to punch Harry in the mouth. It was a good thing I fought that urge, because Amanda moved in about a year later.