Earlier this year I fell in love with a pair of underwear.
They were fancy, lacy, adorable, sexy—and being held hostage at an adult store.
I sat there in the parking lot of said store, with my heart slamming inexplicably in my chest, palms glistening and sweaty, as I drummed up the courage to go in.
Generally the Ex and I don’t fight, which is pretty awesome. But when we do? Good. Lord. It’s like listening to Sean Connery spiel about Capone in the Untouchables.
“They pull a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. *That's* the *Chicago* way!”
“You may want to tighten up on your parking. You’ve had 4 tickets in the past 4 months.”
Seriously?
The words, which are fairly innocuous on their own, when delivered by The Ex, seem barbed and mangle whatever part of my heart has the capacity to listen.
You are effing kidding me.
“Oh.. you’re not taking this well..”
Damn straight.
“It’s just that you’ve been towed.. you had those 2 tickets that I paid.. now this..”
He was very impressive, very handsome, and very grown up. He had a collection of letters after his last name that I couldn’t keep up with. I immediately felt an urge to stir up his life.
I fell deeply in love, but I wasn’t enough the way I was.
I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.
He’s right, I thought.
I’m too childish. I should grow up.
He doesn’t eat Lucky Charms. Or read comics. Or watch cartoons. Or like messes.
No one in a break up is an inherently bad person. No one. Ok. There's always the exception. But for the most part, everyone has their side, their story, and their truth. So how do people come out the other side? How can couples that separate — especially those with kids and joint custody issues, get back to being friends? And is it even possible for ex-couples to stay amicable during the ‘no that’s actually my Lagostina set’ argument or worse, the inevitable ‘I think I’ve met someone’ bombshell?
What is a divorce party? I have no clue. Let me amend that. I have actually been to a divorce party and I still don’t know what one is.
Technically a divorce party is the kind of shindig that brings people together to provide some closure and celebrate a fresh start in life. Kind of like a cross between a wake and a wedding shower.
And that’s the first place where the concept rattles around in my head like a pinball that refuses to sink. What exactly does a divorce party celebrate? Endings? Beginnings? Life in general?
Something has been getting to me recently. The whole ‘it’s my anniversary so I’m changing my profile and/or cover picture’ to a generic wedding photo. Gah.
Look, I am the first person to go through your photos when I become your Facebook friend. I’m a total and self-admitted social media voyeur and I have no plans to stop formulating theories and opinions on your life based on nothing but Instagram pics of the food you eat and your most recent status updates.
What is support? Why does everyone have advice to give? And when do you draw the line when things start to feel, well, yucky, for lack of a better word?
I’m not wearing my wedding ring and it feels very strange.
The truth is I haven’t worn it in weeks, but it’s only now, looking at Hubs’ bare hands that I feel odd. Somehow when he removed his, it got me looking for mine. Like I have to visually confirm its absence.
Sometimes I still feel its imprint and my thumb darts across my palm searching for the thin bands on my fingers. It’s like having a ghost appendage.
Family planning, fertility issues, and miscarriage blow a hole in your life. The stress can leave you asking "How do I get over this loss?” or “When will I start feeling better?” and you will not know the answer. That is, until you find the elusive reset button.
My reset button, it turns out, involves having a baby with an ex-boyfriend. Wait. What?