I Thought the Fat Lady Sang!
Okay, so I learned about a month ago that my ex-husband, whom I divorced, remarried in April. Got a problem with that. After all the times he had dumped me for a myriad of stupid reasons, I knew, and had warned him one day I would reach my limit. The idiot always came crawling back, when he got his sh-- together again.
We had a deal of sorts: No matter what, if we were split for twenty years, we'd never divorce. Because it was an escape hatch. Can't marry some love-struck fool if one is already married, right?
But, one lonely, lonely night, one of so many in a row I lost count, I had it. Reached my 'full' level. Filed for divorce, found someone new and wonderful, and got on with my life.
And, we were able to be 'friends' of a sort. Actually, I was his friend. When the bimbo had him arrested (twice) on some domestic b.s., my interview with the D.A. was instrumental in his release. Another time, I rescued him before the cops arrived, and put him in a cheap hotel for a night. Next day, he went back home to get his head together.
After that, we talked regularly. I was a little concerned for him, I have known him over twenty years. I thought he was doing so well: sober, working, getting acquainted with reality and responsibility again. Then, a week went by, no word. And another. I knew he was blowing it. Sure enough, married the stupid cop-calling psycho. For real this time.
But the hoot about this overly long dull story is that I figured out why his remarrying bothers me so much: It isn't that I miss him at all, the bastard got the final dump! I did the divorcing, he did me one better! I thought I was the fat lady belting it out from the balcony! My voice was muted! Damn him! He won.
We had a deal of sorts: No matter what, if we were split for twenty years, we'd never divorce. Because it was an escape hatch. Can't marry some love-struck fool if one is already married, right?
But, one lonely, lonely night, one of so many in a row I lost count, I had it. Reached my 'full' level. Filed for divorce, found someone new and wonderful, and got on with my life.
And, we were able to be 'friends' of a sort. Actually, I was his friend. When the bimbo had him arrested (twice) on some domestic b.s., my interview with the D.A. was instrumental in his release. Another time, I rescued him before the cops arrived, and put him in a cheap hotel for a night. Next day, he went back home to get his head together.
After that, we talked regularly. I was a little concerned for him, I have known him over twenty years. I thought he was doing so well: sober, working, getting acquainted with reality and responsibility again. Then, a week went by, no word. And another. I knew he was blowing it. Sure enough, married the stupid cop-calling psycho. For real this time.
But the hoot about this overly long dull story is that I figured out why his remarrying bothers me so much: It isn't that I miss him at all, the bastard got the final dump! I did the divorcing, he did me one better! I thought I was the fat lady belting it out from the balcony! My voice was muted! Damn him! He won.