Fidelity isn't a feeling...it's a choice.
Oh, sweet cheese and crackers. I hope to make last night one of those “Eternal Moments” that flash into my head whenever I’m feeling lonely or depressed about my life.
I ran into Rico at a mutual friends’ retirement party last night. It happens from time to time. I usually roll well with it.
He rode into the venue on his white horse with cape flying, buying cocktails for anyone and everyone like he’d won the Powerball drawing. Hugged and greeted folks as if he’d just returned from war. Cackled far too loudly at jokes that were mostly his. I watched in disgust at him oh-so-obviously checking out the behinds of our female friends to the point of me actually kicking him in the shin. Just like when we were married – me corralling the “Ass Man” in.
Everyone got to hear all about how great the new job is going…how he’s never in town because he’s busy making the donuts (with me thinking to myself, “Yeah, I’ll bet your making more than just donuts on the road, pal”)…how he can’t wait to dump Sparkle Panties and move back into our marital neighborhood just as soon as he gets enough money together to do so. And on, and on, and on. I did my best to avoid him, but it was a small place. Lots of hysterical “WTF?” glances and eye rolls my way from my pals to which I responded back with my shoulders shrugged and my “Meh – I'm good…he’s just an Asshole” face.
Growing tired of his busting into my Tanqueray & Tonic MOJO as well as him dancing off rhythm on my last nerve, I called him over to a side table and told him to bring it down twelve notches and that thank you very little but no one there needed his help buying their cocktails. I asked that he be respectful of me and stop mentioning the woman he lives with and is so obviously using even worse than he did me and that if he couldn’t do all that, well, he should just get on his horse and leave.
He responded back with his usual blameshifting diatribe of how he’s not a user and how dare I accuse him of being one and that I should feel badly because I was ruining HIS night. All said with his neck veins popping and his Italian hands a’flying, his voice steadily rising to attract attention with that freakishly stupid four-year old’s “Who, Me?” look on a 54 year old grown-ass man’s face. The look that just wants to make me take all I’ve learned in Body Attack and use it upside his ego filled melon and/or his crotch.
Instead, I leaned toward him and quietly said that if he was choosing to start a fight with me that I would have one or two of OUR guy friends come over just for kicks and that I wouldn’t be held responsible for what happened after that. I then stood up, smiled the fakest Southern smile I could come up with, gritted my teeth, walked away and rejoined the party. Thank you, years of therapy.
Something must have kicked in because he was gone in under 5 minutes. I swear, Sparkles is either completely desperate or incredibly stupid. Or both. But he's her problem (at least for now) and for that I am eternally grateful.
"Truth has no special time of its own. Its hour is now - always." - Albert Schweitzer
Me: BW - Him: 200+ # tumor removed 7/09
DS - 33 - Yikes!