Everyone’s
divorce story is boring. Except mine. Mine’s amazing.
When you first
find yourself dumped and alone. Left for another woman. A single mom,
with two babies in diapers. Pathetic. Fat. Wronged. Fat. Angry.
Fat. You will tell anyone in the world your story. And you think
they care. But they don’t. I mean, mine they care about. But
yours, they don’t give a shit.
In a long list
of people that cared deeply and never got tired of hearing my incredibly unique
divorce story, one man stood out. My beloved UPS man, Peanut.
Out of all my paid friends, Peanut was the most sympathetic shoulder to cry
on.
Peanut and I
had been front-door-best-friends for 6 years. Being alone in a house with
two babies day and in a day out, Peanut’s deliveries were THE highlight of my
day.
I’m not
certain Peanut was his Christian name but he wore it well. Peanut was
small in stature but a mighty moral force. After my divorce, I found myself
buying things on Amazon just to see his tiny face. I would one-click a
single pair of socks if it would beckon my beloved Peanut. He would
deliver a package and I would deliver him a tale of a woman wronged for what
seemed like hours because it was hours. I would cry as he stood in
silence.
Peanut had
developed throat cancer and had had his voice box removed. When he really
wanted to tell me how
sympathetic he was to my drama, he would take out his artificial larynx, place
it to his throat and a robot voice would say, “Eugenia, I really must be
going.” I like to think that I helped Peanut during his cancer
battle. Showing him that, in fact, things could be worse.
This past
weekend, my new, shiny husband Zack and I went on a much needed trip to San
Francisco. While there we ate and drank and ate some more, which I
find is the only thing to do in San Francisco. When a city is known for a
bowl made entirely of bread…well, for me, it’s a city of bad decisions and
carbohydrates.
When I eat
out, there are certain rules I must always follow or I will make for a terrible
dinner companion.
Number 1: Do
not sit me in front of or near a mirror.
I will spend
the whole night staring at myself, which will lead to self-loathing and regret
because I ate bread, which will lead to a conversation about bulimia and how lucky
those girls are, which will lead to more guilt because bulimia is a serious
disease, which will lead to me accepting me for me, which will lead to a late
night Domino’s Pizza delivery in my bed while watching re-runs of The Golden
Girls, which will lead to me being sad that I stopped writing, which will lead
to me being sad that I have nothing to write about, which will lead to me
blaming my ex-husband for not being more supportive, which will lead to me
telling my divorce story, which will lead to absolutely nothing.
Number
2: Never sit me near another table.
Their
conversation is far more interesting than anything my husband and I can talk
about after several days together. There are only so many times he can
explain baseball, tell me how much he loves me, and try to convince me that I’m
not fat. He’s so stupid. I’m sitting in front of a
mirror. I’m not blind.
I was digging
into my second piece of artisan San Francisco sourdough bread convincing myself
that because it was made in San Francisco there were less preservatives making
the carbs in some way less carby, when a woman, her pregnant friend and her
pregnant friends husband were seated exactly one and one half pieces of
teardrop shaped bread away from us. From my perspective, we were dining
together. My immediate impulse was to introduce myself and ask the
pregnant woman, Erica, when she was due.
I could tell
right away that this was Erica’s first pregnancy. I could tell because she was
proud of her baby bump. When I was pregnant, I would hold my belly to
make sure people knew that yes, I was morbidly obese but with child, not just
plain old regular morbidly obese. Erica was holding her stomach as though
it needed support or it would fall off because she was so skinny.
She’s so stupid. Erica didn’t realize that being pregnant is
embarrassing because there is a human living inside of you that will eventually
make its way out of your vagina and everyone knows it. She didn’t realize
that after the baby crawls out of her, she will find herself in a jumpy house
unable to control her bladder at a childs birthday party and blame a toddler
named Spencer for the wet spot.
Erica needed
all of my wisdom and she needed it fast. I had to tell her how to
breastfeed. How long to breastfeed. About the too-infrequently-used “side-hold”
position. I needed to tell her about all the recalled baby products.
Is she taking her pre-natals? What brand? Has she taken a
babymoon? Does she know how to swaddle? Has anyone explained to her
that you bite a newborns nails off?
My wheels were
spinning as my husband gave me a familiar look. It’s a slow headshake
where he psychically tells me, “No. They don’t need any of your
wisdom.” He’s so stupid. I was about to gift the pregnant
woman my knowledge anyway when Rachel, the single friend hijacked my would-be
conversation.
-Rachel is
doing great. Ryder and Natalie are also doing great. Well, not great. They are
doing as well as can be expected for two children whose father just up and
walks out on them. It’s just, why would Todd introduce them to his
girlfriend without speaking to Rachel first? If they are to co-parent
shouldn’t Todd have introduced Cindy to Rachel first? But it all goes
back to Todd and his selfishness.
SHUT UP, RACHEL.
Nobody cares. And so began the two hour meal with my husband and our
dinner companions Rachel, Erica and Bob. I was irritated to say the
least. There was no time for me to insert my expertise. Not an opening
for me to brag about tandem breastfeeding. No. Instead, I had to
listen to Rachel and her stupid divorce story.
-Ryder and
Natalie don't eat junk food. They just don’t. They don’t drink
soda. To them, juice is a special occasion. They’ve never had
McDonalds. Well, maybe they do at Todd’s house. He never cared
about their well-being before the divorce but maybe he does now. Maybe
Todd being on his own will open his eyes to being a decent father.
Although, this latest stunt with Cindy is proving that he’s the “same old
Todd”.
Yawn.
Who cares? Get over it. I looked at my shiny new husband. I
gave him the look of, “Well, now I need to insert myself into this divorce
story. She doesn’t know a divorce story till she hears mine.” Zack slowly
shook his head. Psychically reminding me, no one needs your
knowledge. He’s so stupid. Rachel needed me.
-And it’s not
like Rachel was a prude. She and Todd have always had a very intense
sexual connection and that’s why the whole Cindy thing is making it
weird. For Todd not for Rachel. Rachel’s doing great. Rachel
can tell that Cindy is jealous. And Rachel feels terrible because all
she wants is Todd’s happiness. Nothing else.
It was at this
point that I started to hear some oddly familiar divorce story lines.
“I don’t want
you to take a side. He needs friends right now. He’s really
broken. You just have to ignore the fact that he walked out on his family
for some young chick. I’m sure Cindy is a great girl.”
I recognized
it immediately. The desperate attempt to seem sympathethic while passive-aggressively
explaining that if they ever speak to Todd again, they are dead to you.
What Rachel had yet to learn, and I was dying to teach her, is in divorce
there is a science to splitting the friends.
You keep your
original friends. The ones you came into the marriage with.
The couple
friends that you made together, you split as follows. If they are
work friends that need Todd for financial gain, they sell their souls and stay
with Todd. If they are parent friends with kids at your school, they stay
with you and go straight to heaven.
There is one
exception. If you give someone the option to stay friends with the “Todd”
of the marriage, they’re going to stay friends with “Todd”. And
here’s why. While you are out there, scorned, trying to show people
how “super” you’re doing, Todd’s actually doing “super”. He’s not whining
about you being a bad mom. He’s in hog heaven. He’s rid of
you. The nag who wouldn't let his kids have a McDonald’s happy
meal. And now, he’s got another woman to take care of him. So,
while you went from an intact family to a single mom raising the kids alone,
Todd went from one woman to another. Someone is still cooking him dinner.
Someone is still washing his unders. The only difference is you’ve been
exchanged for a younger model who thinks Todd is a god. And now, Todd’s a
good-time guy. He’s good company. You are the buzz kill. No one
cares that Todd lets the kids eat McDonalds. They don’t care about anything
at all except that Todd doesn’t bitch and complain while they are binging on
artisan sourdough bread.
Rachel got up
to go to the restroom. Erica grimaced at Bob and said, “Wow, poor
Todd.”
And that was
the end of Rachel’s friendship with Erica and Bob. Rachel was pathetic.
And I used to be Rachel. Sometimes I still am. I looked at my
husband, ashamed. He got it. And he loves me anyway. I guess he’s
not that stupid.
The meal
ended. My dinner companions left. I still didn’t understand
baseball. I was still fat. Zack still loved me and no one cared
about Rachel’s divorce story.
And that’s the
sad truth. No one cares. If you want people to see your ex for who
he really is, you are wasting your time. He’ll reveal himself. And
when he does, no one will care. You won’t be vindicated because you will
be a distant memory. No one will feel sorry for you. They don’t
care. They cared for exactly one week when it was gossip.
Then they stopped caring.
And if you
land on your feet. Married. Happy. Healthy.
Skinny. Well, then Todd looks like the big hero. Cause now you’re
so much better off. Todd did everyone a big huge favor by leaving
you. Thanks, Todd. Dick.
It’ll take
time, but you finally realize you need to put your divorce story to bed.
Close that chapter. Close the book. And your friends,
your original friends who know where the bodies are buried. The ones that
have watched you feed your children Chicken McNuggets while complaining that
Todd feeds the kids junk. They share your story. They lived it with
you. They hate Todd. I promise. It’s time to burn the
book. To look forward and live for the future. The new book
is going to be so much better. The stories will be filled with everything
you need. Love, laughter, family, your original people, a bread bowl, Peanut the UPS man and
world peace. Also, if anyone wants to hear my divorce story, it's a real doozy and I'm happy to share it.