How I Found Out That My Ex-Husband Was Getting Married
We started dating in the tenth grade. See My High School Self, My Vampire Boyfriend. We married after I finished college (he didn’t finish). We eventually had five children, two at a time. We separated years ago, suddenly; it was not mutual, nor my choice. A nasty and prolonged divorce became final in February. So, after more years than I care to mention, my high school sweetheart and I were finally, legally, broken up.
So, it’s Just Me With . . . my five kids in our little fixer (Ex-Hoarders) home. See Piss, Puke, and Porn. I keep a land line there because I have children, not all of whom have cell phones, and it is important to me to have another number, not affected by minutes or power outages or charging status, that I know will work. Like many people, though, my cell phone is the best way to contact me. Just in the last week or so I had told my ex-husband to please call my cell, rather than the house phone, because I don’t always get the messages right away or get up to answer it.
Two nights ago, I got a voicemail on my house phone from my ex-husband asking me to give him a call about dresses for the girls for his “marriage” in June.
Huh, what?
Let’s review, shall we?
My ex-husband had had the kids for an overnight over Mother’s Day weekend. We arranged for him to bring them back early Sunday so that I could spend Mother’s Day with my children. By my standards, Mother’s Day Sunday was a successful day. The kids did not fight much. They even played together outside and took videos of each other spinning on a swing. No tears, no drama.
Monday evening my ex-husband took the kids for his scheduled dinner time visit. Afterward, he dropped them off as usual. We settled in for watching a little Dancing With the Stars.
The landline rang. We let it ring. My cell phone did not ring.
I remembered hours later that I had gotten a call and checked messages. I’d received a message from the diving coach. Oops need to return that call, I thought. Next, I heard the message from my Ex-husband, which bears repeating:
“Could you give me a call when you get a chance so we can talk about dresses for the girls for my marriage [in June ]?”
huh (Weird that he didn’t say “wedding” . . . but I digress . . . )
This was Monday night after their Saturday night visit and the redundant Monday dinner. Since the kids had said nothing, I assumed that they did not know, and this was his way of telling me.
I was wrong.
When I returned his call the next day, he told me that he and his girlfriend told the kids on Saturday, the day before Mother’s Day. He added that he was surprised that THEY didn’t tell me when they got home. Let the record reflect that the kids got home — on Mother’s Day.
hmm
So, to recap, summarize and conclude:
My ex-husband dropped the kids home on Mother’s Day assuming that they would inform me that he was getting married. He thought that they would tell me this — ON MOTHER’S DAY! This was his plan. And when that plan failed, he left me a voicemail on a landline I don’t answer and that he had been requested not to use.
Happy Mother’s Day to me!
My wedding? (I don’t even remember how much that cost);
My divorce (oh around $35,000 and counting);
Announcement of the Ex’s Engagement? (PRICELESS!)
There’s really no good way to hear this news, but there are really bad ways to announce it, and this was one of them, well actually two: one failed attempt at getting the kids to tell me on Mother’s Day, and another stealth voice mail message about dresses on a phone I don’t answer.
But kudos to my kids who had enough sense not to rush in with this information on Mother’s Day. None of them said anything (and they don’t usually work well together) yet they must have sensed that Mother’s Day was not the day to tell me — or perhaps they sensed correctly it was not their place to tell me.
Or maybe they thought I already knew?
Regardless, and putting my feelings about the marriage aside, I gotta give props to my kids. And hugs.
Just Me With . . . the best kids ever and a voice mail from my Ex — everything.
Oh, and by the way, he’ll be getting the dresses for the girls.
Postscript: Months later it was one of the kids who told me that the happy couple was expecting.
You know what they say about payback — see “Father’s Day Announcements To My Ex ”
For an earlier insensitive Mother’s Day celebration, see “Worst Mother’s Day Card Ever”
For a more uplifting Mother’s Day tribute, see “To My Best Friend On Mother’s Day”
For a discussion on how I felt about the news, see “How Do I Feel About My Ex-Husband Getting Married”
Those Beautiful, Lousy, Good for Nothing Kids Clapped for Me!!!!
Last night I went to a jam session. I took my kids and one of their friends. I have hopes that someday my kids will participate. They take lessons, they have some chops, but they don’t have the confidence or drive to get up there. So last night they were there to listen. Still, something beautiful happened. They clapped . . . for me.
I played multiple times, I took solos, and after each, they clapped . . . for me. (In case you’re wondering, they weren’t the only ones.) But as I look back on it today, the fact that I got applause from “those people I made” is something I really needed. They were there, in my element, watching/listening and clapping at the appropriate times. They showed genuine appreciation for the music, for me, and for the other musicians. They may never get up there. But they know their mom can, does and loves it. They know I have credibility with other musicians — something which has nothing to do with them or being their mom.
I’ve had a hard time with my particular situation, the demands on me, my current place in life and the journey that brought me here. I’d been feeling a bit beat-down lately. Periodically, or sometimes consistently, leaving the “me” behind to meet the needs of my children and be there for them had been taking a toll. I’m a sensitive person, but you gotta have a thick skin to raise people, and sometimes, it’s well . . . hard. But last night, things were different, so different things were almost upside down. I wasn’t one of the many supportive parents taking pictures and cheering my kids on at a school performance or sporting event. They were there watching, clapping for and taking pictures of — me. And it was good — to play music, it was good to have a respectful audience, it was good to back burner the “mom” nameplate yet still have the children with me. In short, it was good to be Just Me.
After a while it was getting late, and they were ready to go, as was I. As we got up to leave I was asked to play one more set. The kids didn’t seem to mind that much. I played. They clapped. No complaints. At the end of he night I thanked them for coming. (Mind you they did get some food out of the deal.) But the lack of eye-rolling, whining, fighting and squirming — and their applause . . . they don’t even know how much I needed that.
Sometimes a girl just needs a little applause. I may call my mom and just clap for her.
Just Me With . . . my music and my kids . . . . just being me.
My Panty Drawer/Your Panty Drawer — My Adventure in Home Staging and Carpet Installation
I’ve talked about the crap I’ve had to deal with in my new house, well not crap, piss, actually, see Piss, Puke and Porn, but my old house had been a fixer upper, too. There were a lot of jobs that didn’t get finished, what with kids that started coming two at a time and then the husband walking out and all. But I had decided to sell and I had to do cosmetic changes quickly to make the house more appealing.
I needed to get carpet on the stairway and upstairs hallway. Not a job I could do myself. Even the most avid DIY-ers will call in the pros for carpet installation, especially stairs. So I got a quote from one of those next day installation companies since the house was already on the market and I needed a quick turnaround. Didn’t like the sales guy that came by hours late — said he couldn’t find my house and when he did, there were no cars in the driveway so he thought I was out. Wrong. But again, I needed a quick turnaround so I went ahead and booked a time for neutral colored carpet to be installed next day.
For staging purposes, I had already moved one of my dressers from my bedroom to another room to make my bedroom appear larger. (This was a big house , but it was an old house so we didn’t have the huge walk in closets, etc., just a lot of rooms). So my dresser, containing my bras and panties and pajamas, was in the room (formerly and traditionally, a nursery) adjacent to the master bedroom at the top of the stairs. I sometimes keep important documents in my panty drawer (anyone else do that?) so I had been looking in there for a credit card I don’t usually use to pay for the carpet. I admit that I may have left the drawer slightly ajar — cracked, but not completely open.
Sitting with the supervisor downstairs I completed the paperwork and made the down payment. While we were doing this the workers came in to prepare for installation. This much must be understood: this was a hallway carpet installation, the previous carpet had already been removed. In other words, there was no furniture to move out of the way and no bedrooms were getting new carpet. After the paperwork was finalized, I checked on the workers.
I walked upstairs to find a man in the extra room with his hand in the now open underwear drawer, gazing at and fingering my panties. My good, lace, hoping I’ll get lucky — underpants. Ew. (Ladies, you just crossed you legs, didn’t you?) As soon as he saw me he dropped them, removed his hand, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar — or more accurately — looking like a man caught with his hand in my panty drawer!
Nothing was missing from my drawer. But in my mind my panties would never be the same. I complained to the supervisor who spoke to the workers — in Spanish. I don’t speak Spanish. I complained to the corporate offices in writing. I got a call saying that they had investigated and the worker said the drawer probably fell open while they were moving furniture, and of course I countered,
THE WORKERS DIDN’T HAVE TO MOVE ANY FURNITURE TO INSTALL HALLWAY CARPET! THEY HAD NO TO REASON TO BE IN THAT ROOM AT ALL, LET ALONE IN MY UNDERWEAR DRAWER!
Now, I understand that any company can get a bad worker, but not only did they offer me nothing for my experience, but I even got the subsequent follow-up marketing calls, you know, the “How did you like our service?” calls. It was funny, because I would calmly respond, “The carpet is fine, but one of your workers played with my panties and that kinda of ruined it for me. So, no, I can’t recommend your company to anyone.” Ha! Oh, the stutters I would get from the unknowing telemarketer!!! But really, what kind of company would keep me on the call list after I’d complained in writing?
This is a national carpet company — and to this day when I hear their ads with their catchy jingle, I sing a little ditty — “They’ll install carpet and feel up your panties — today.”
Just Me With . . . panties that get more action than I do.
Craigslist Angels — One Man’s Trash is Another Man’s Treasure
My house wasn’t this grand, but it was somewhat similar.
My Marital Home was large Victorian fixer-upper still in progress. I had accumulated a lot of children and stuff over my years there. One of my forms of therapy has always been to get rid of things and rearrange furniture (I know, a little weird) . Consequently I’d been cleaning crap out with a vengeance after my husband left (so much so he thought I was moving way before I even thought about it).
When the real move was on the horizon, I was faced with moving from this big house to my new little project where Piss Man and his GF were living (See Piss, Puke and Porn). So I basically decreased our belongings by — my guess — around two/thirds . . . Mind you the kid count was remaining the same and they were/are growing by the minute and although some days I’d like to sell them, I’m aware that generally this is frowned upon. Consequently, other stuff had to go.
Since I’m a purger by nature I drop by Goodwill often; they know me (even got hit on there). But since I was already doing this massive move by myself, including getting the Marital Home ready for sale and fixing up the new old hoarder’s house, I was quickly tiring of schlepping my stuff to Goodwill. I also tired of selling individual items, you know, meeting strangers at inconvenient times, etc. to maybe or maybe not make a sale. (Sounds a little like dating, but I digress.) I’ve never had luck having yard sales. So I started posting things for free.
We’ve all seen those ads, “Free Stuff” “Moving” etc. Well, I became one of those people. I decided to give away everything I could on one beautiful weekend. I took pictures, posted them on Craigslist and said FREE — come get it . . . first come, first served.
When living in a smaller space you don’t have the luxury to store certain things, one of them being holiday decorations. I’d already gotten rid of much of that stuff, but I was ready to let go of almost everything else. I told myself, and I was right, that I probably wouldn’t miss it and if I wanted more decorations later I’d start fresh.
My kids’ babysitter (now a good, good friend) had given them these beautiful angel decorations — you know the kind with the velvet gown and fur and whatnot — I had four of them for the girls and she’d given the boy a big nutcracker (heh heh). The angels had looked beautiful in my formal dining room when I had my Christmas sing-along parties. But, that life was . . . over. Still, even for me, it is a bit harder to get rid of items that were thoughtful gifts from a loved one– so I struggled a bit.
I knew I couldn’t store the angels and I knew that in the new old house I wouldn’t have a place to display them at Christmas . . . so . . . I took a picture of the kids’ pretty angels, posted it on Craigslist and put them out on the street, convincing myself that my friend would understand. It felt kinda like giving away my four girls, except my girls aren’t always angels . . . but I digress.
Christmas Angels
After posting, I got an email right away from a guy wanting to know if I still had them. I checked outside and they were still there. He asked me to hold them until he could get to my house.
Alrighty.
I mean, they were pretty, but I didn’t know they’d be hot property — in June. I moved them to a more secluded place and told him where he could find them. He came and got them right away. I never saw him.
“Cool,” I thought, “My stuff is going.” It’s amazing how you can’t sell something for a dollar but if you offer it for free — it’s gone.
A couple of hours later I got an email from the man who took the angels. He thanked me for the them, telling me that they were for his mother who was going through Cancer treatments and having a pretty rough time. She didn’t get out much, he said, hardly ever. But when she saw the picture of my Christmas angels she wanted them so badly that she rode with him to get them.
He said those angels made her so happy. He was thrilled to be able to make her smile.
He just wanted to let me know how much I’d done for the both of them.
I almost cried. I’m lying, I did cry.
Oh wait, it’s Just Me With . . . tears in my eyes . . . again.
For what happened when I prepared the Marital Home for sale, see My Panty Drawer/Your Panty Drawer
For my purging of marriage related material, see:
My Wedding Album, Time to Reduce It — Perhaps by Fire
Wedding Leftovers — What To Do With The Dress?
and for what I wish would happen with Craigslist, see, A Craigslist Fantasy.
Toilet or Kitchen Sink — Who Can Tell?
As I noted in Piss, Puke and Porn after I bought my new old house I allowed the prior owners to rent it back from me for a number of months while my marital home was on the market. During this time I worked mostly on the outside of the house.
It needed it.
I saw this home and had to have it. I’m crazy that way.
When it got closer to move-in time I did do some work/planning inside the house.
It needed it.
The Kitchen
One fine day I was in the kitchen measuring, trying to come up with a plan to remodel the kitchen which, again, was nasty –I mean it had stained, smelly carpet — IN THE KITCHEN! Once white ceiling tiles which were brown from cigarette smoke and water damage, and the kitchen boasted a lovely exposed toilet pipe, etc. But I was financially challenged and wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to afford all the home renovations needed at one time. I briefly considered trying to live with the kitchen “as is’ for a while. (Of course, after removing the carpet and massive cleaning and disinfecting.)
Makes you want to cook, right?
During the rental period, the matriarch of the family, bless her heart, had become ill. She was staying in a hospital bed in the front room (the hallway was too small to get a bed upstairs). Her common law daughter-in-law (the one living upstairs with Piss Man) was her primary caretaker. See What Happened In My House? Murder? The daughter-in-law seemed to want to befriend me. I can talk to anybody, really, so we were chatting it up. Mind you, this was before the discovery of The Piss Collection.
But then something happened.
Piss Man’s Girlfriend had gone to check on the Matriarch. I stayed in the kitchen, pondering — what to do with this mess? Then, Piss Man’s Girlfriend returned with a full bed pan and proceeded to empty it — into the kitchen sink — INTO THE KITCHEN SINK !!!!
EWWWWWWW!
She did this right in front of me!!!
My hopes of my family using the existing kitchen for a while and thus staggering the home renovations were dashed, or should I say splashed down the kitchen sink. A kitchen sink currently being used and surrounded by dishes and food.
Ew.
When the family moved out of my new old house, the entire kitchen — including the kitchen sink — was demolished by a friend and I — within days. We lived for four months with no kitchen at all. But I’d rather have no kitchen at all than —-
Just Me With . . . The Ever Popular “Toilet — Kitchen Sink Combination.”
Related: What Happened in My House, Murder?
Fertile Myrtle — I have a lot of kids
Yes, I had twins, twice — back to back, plus a singleton.
Yup. Yup. Yup. I can’t count how many times I’ve said this. It never gets old. Sometimes I have to say it to myself just so that I believe it.
The husband and I had been happily child-free by choice for years, but it was time to have some babies. Because of job issues, we wanted to have two in a row, God willing.
We had one, a boy. According to plan, by the time our son was 11 months old I was pregnant again. All was well until I had some spotting. I was terrified. Before my son I’d had a miscarriage and I was really afraid of having another. I didn’t want to relive that pain of being told they can’t find a heartbeat. I felt okay but because of the spotting my doctor sent me for an ultrasound immediately. I went alone. I was thrilled when they showed me the heartbeat!
And then . . . they showed me another heartbeat!
It was twins!
Twins? Twins. Two strong heartbeats. The spotting stopped and I had full-term fraternal baby girls. The boy was just 19 months old when the girls were born. I didn’t get my tubes tied on the table because it was a vaginal birth. My husband didn’t get snipped, which he would never do anyway. I wasn’t planning to have more children but I guess I wasn’t ready to make that an impossibility. I did know that after having gone through a twin pregnancy and childbirth I didn’t want to go through a separate procedure to get my tubes tied. So, I didn’t.
When the girls were about six months old and the boy was two there was trouble in paradise: my husband had an affair.
It was more of a fling that I found out about — immediately. He voluntarily ended it. It was a difficult time. I did not take it well, but I had three kids in diapers, two of which were nursing. It was an incredibly challenging time, parenting-wise, having a toddler and twin babies. Frankly, I needed my husband’s help.
Months passed, and we hadn’t really reconciled. We hadn’t really dealt with it, the demand of having three little ones took most of our focus. My husband was still sleeping in the guest room. I was still nursing the babies, but less often. They were getting some solid food.
Then one night, I was feeling amorous. Who am I kidding, I was so freaking horny out of my mind. Bow-Chicka-Bow-Wow. I should have known I was having some sort of major hormonal surge. I just had to have sex. Had to. I told my husband that it didn’t mean anything it was just about the sex. I simply required his services. (I’m so romantic.)
We’d both been tested by this time . . . so . . .
A few weeks later I was missing something — but I was still nursing, my body was not yet my own, let alone my cycle. Still, something was up. In addition to missing my period I had the signs. Frequent urination, I was even nauseous and starting to show — strong and early — just like with the twins. My best friend the gynecologist brought over a pregnancy test for me when my husband was out. I couldn’t face the possibility on my own and couldn’t deal with my semi-estranged husband.
Like so many women before me I engaged in the peeing on the stick ritual. It was positive. Right away, no faint line. It screamed PREGNANT! Of course.
I couldn’t tell my husband. We were barely talking. My pregnancy symptoms worsened, and they were heightened just like with my twin pregnancy. That’s the thing about pregnancy, it just keeps going, even if you don’t tell anybody.
Then we got a very strange phone call. My mother-in-law called and told us she had dreamed of fish — twice. Well, there is an old African-American wives tale: when you dream of fish, someone in the family is pregnant. She’d had this dream before, and it was accurate last time. Shortly after my mother-in-law dreamt of fish my sister-in-law announced she was (accidentally) pregnant. But this time, no one else in the family was reasonably likely to be pregnant so . . . she was checking on us. After all, she had dreamed of fish —- TWICE!!!!
Twice.
When I finally told my husband I was pregnant and described how I’d been feeling, he laughed and said, “I bet it’s twins.”
(What a prince.)
I retorted, “No, that doesn’t happen.”
I don’t necessarily believe any of those old superstitions, but my mother-in-law’s call, my husband’s teasing, my overwhelming pregnancy symptoms which were so similar to my last twin pregnancy, along with the scientific fact that pregnant women have no patience and suddenly become very superstitious — well I just had to know.
I begged my doctor for an ultrasound. There was no real medical reason for it, really. I wasn’t spotting or having pain and it was early on. Still, for peace of mind and to ease my anxiety I just needed to know that it was not twins. I needed to know. Plus, it was time to tell folks that I was pregnant — and I wanted to assure them that it was just one baby this time.
My doctor prescribed the test.
When I went to the ultrasound (again by myself) the technician asked me why I was having the scan. I told her “to rule out twins” — since I had just had twins. “Oh.” She made small talk and asked me how old my kids were (2,1, and 1). But once she started the scan she got very quiet. Small talk was over. Even though the pregnancy wasn’t planned, I didn’t want to lose the baby. I didn’t want to relive the heartbreak of not being able to find a heartbeat. Deja vu.
Again, I was terrified. The technician left the room without saying a word. This was unnerving. I was so scared, pregnant, emotional and laying on that table in the room alone, without a clue as to what was going on.
A few minutes later, the technician came back — with her boss.
I asked them, “Is there a heartbeat?”
“Oh yes, there’s a heartbeat,” said the boss lady.
Phew.
Then they showed me the screen. “Here,” she pointed, and . . . “here,” she pointed again. Deja Vu . There were two strong heartbeats — again.
After I dressed, with mind reeling or alternatively in complete denial, I called my semi-estranged husband from the exam room and left him a voicemail, “Yeah, it’s twins.”
Months later, I gave birth to full-term fraternal twin girls — again. This time I had to have a C-Section and at my request, they performed a tubal ligation while I was still on the table. No more babies, and that’s alright with me.
So there you have it. This is how I ended up with five children in about three and a half years.
Because of the circumstances of their conception, I sometimes refer to that second set of twins (behind their backs of course) as “Oops and Uh-oh.”
Oh yeah, and my first-born Singleton Boy? He started out as twins. My hormone levels had been high, I was measuring large, and was sent for an ultrasound after my doctor said, “You might have an army in there!” By the time I had the test done, it showed that his twin had been “absorbed” in utero early in the pregnancy. I didn’t think much about it — at the time. Sometimes I call the boy “Jeffery Dahmer” though, (you know, because he ate his twin and all). Ha! 
I had conceived twins three times in a row, like a boss.
Just Me With . . . almost twins, twins and twins.
I asked my doctor why this kept happening. She simply said, “I don’t know.”
See also: Five Kids, One Table, Rope, Six Chairs, and a Plan — How to deal with lots of little kids.
Wedding Leftovers — What To Do With The Dress?
A married woman tends to keep three major things from her wedding: The Rings, The Dress, The Photo Album. Well, I’m not married anymore. Since there are kids I suppose I have to keep the wedding album. The Rings? Well, I recently sold them. Didn’t get much. Told myself I would buy something for myself — not for the house, not for the family or kids –with whatever I could get for them. It felt empowering. Bought myself an iPod. Now the dress. When I moved to a much smaller home, I didn’t feel like making room for the box that holds my dress. Right now it is at my parents’ house. I couldn’t get a local consignment shop to take the veil so it went to Goodwill. The shoes finally got thrown out. They were stained satin, unwearable. I was only keeping them for sentimental reasons. I’m devoid of sentiment these days, so they are gone. But that danged dress! It’s a little harder to get rid of. I looked good in that dress. I was wed long enough ago that the dress is completely out of style, but it’s not old enough that it could be worn as vintage. Even if it was wearable, I guess I’m just superstitious enough that I wouldn’t want someone I know wearing my wedding dress since the marriage ended in divorce. So what to do with it? Halloween? Perhaps. I keep thinking I’ll have one of those parties for women when you wear a wedding or bridesmaid dress just for fun. Yeah, that’ll happen — not! My daughters want to play with it. Maybe I’ll let them — before I get rid of it. But I think I kinda don’t want to see it, ever again. Donating it to a theatre company? Possible. Burn it in the fire pit I built with my own bare hands in the yard of the house I now own by myself (well, with the bank)? hmmmm. I just don’t know. Seems so wasteful, maybe like the wedding, maybe like the marriage. (yeah yeah I know, I got the kids out of the marriage — but for the kids, though, what a freakin waste) . I looked damn good in that dress— a lifetime ago . . .
Divorced Ladies: What have you done with your wedding gown?
Just Me With . . . a big old white dress.
See Also: Wedding Album, Time to Reduce it, Perhaps by Fire
Facebook Mutual Friend with the Ex’s Girlfriend — Part Two
So if you read my earlier post, “Facebook Mutual Friend With The Ex’s Girlfriend — Part One” you know that sitting at Starbucks I found out for sure that my Transitional Man –the first man I had dated since my separation — who I’d met by a chance encounter on the street, had also dated my Ex-Husband’s Girlfriend.
When I told him he was freaked out. I do believe he stuttered a bit, “Wha Wha What?” This dude is an ambitious, self-assured lawyer. The fact that he was at a loss for words is no less than extraordinary.
“Yes,” I said, “My husband is living with her.”
“Living with her?” He was astonished.
“Yup.” I was still getting used to it.
Now here’s where I tread lightly. I don’t want to bad mouth the Girlfriend . After all, she is not the woman my Ex left me for (that relationship didn’t work out, surprise, surprise) and though she has done some things that have overstepped for sure, I don’t want to use this post as any kind of venting situation. So I will condense and dilute his comments.
Actually, I didn’t ask him anything about her. He just started talking. It felt like he wanted to be my source of information. First he assured me that they had not slept together. (I find that quite hard to believe, he buys his condoms in bulk).
Then he said something very interesting. He said he didn’t think she’d be very “kid friendly.” Next, he made a most caring comment– he said, “It must be so hard to have another person around your kids who you don’t know and you have no control over.” He added, “I guess you end up just having to trust your Ex and that’s gotta be hard.”
God Bless my Transitional Man — he hit the nail right on the head. Then he repeated that the Girlfriend wasn’t the kid type and volunteered some additional information I won’t repeat. It was somewhat worrisome since he described her as not kid friendly and expressed sympathy at my situation.
Hmmm.
In any event, my Transitional Man turned out to be very sensitive and thoughtful. By the way, he has no kids, never married — so this was particularly insightful. I really appreciated that.
Though he may have been exaggerating his stance for my benefit, it was clear that he was not impressed by my Ex’s choice. Again, I’m not going to repeat all the things he said, but after describing The Girlfriend as “harsh” he said,
“I don’t get it. Going from you to her is [a huge step down].” He compared us to two celebrities but in retrospect the comparison was unfair so I won’t repeat that part. But suffice it to say it was comparing someone currently popular to someone who was, at the time, considered villainous. I’ll still take it as a compliment since he had “experience” with both of us.
Just Me With . . . a Smile on My Face.
Postscript. Not only did my Ex marry the Girlfriend, but they have procreated. So much for her not being the kid type . . .
And the Transitional Man has also married and I believe has children. I mean I could check Facebook and find out, but I’m not going there.
Facebook Mutual Friend with the Ex’s Girlfriend? – Part One
A Chance Meeting
My ex-husband and I had been separated for a while but the divorce was not yet final. We had married young and been married for a long time. The break up was difficult and not my idea. Drama ensued. Eventually friends told me I needed to get out, go out with someone – anyone — not to find a boyfriend or husband or any real relationship, but as a first step to moving on and feeling single instead of just, well — jilted. See, The Best Advice I Never Took
On an extremely rare holiday downtown shopping trip with my sisters, I had a chance meeting with a guy while looking for a parking spot. We had asked him if we could take his spot as he was about to pull out. He was reasonably attractive and had a law school sticker on his car. So I (also a lawyer) thought, “I’m going to be forward and strike up a conversation.” I found out that he was an associate with the very same law firm I had worked for in a previous life. (This was an amazing coincidence since he is Black also and there have been very few Black attorneys employed at this firm.) He was friendly, seemed nice and let’s face it – good on paper. I asked for his card. Oh, and did I mention that he appeared to be at least 10 years younger than me?
How Stella Got Her Groove Back
It took me two whole months to get the nerve to email him. When I did, he remembered me right away. It was just the ego boost I needed. We went out. Long story short, I knew him in the Biblical sense (in hindsight, probably too quickly). I wasn’t emotionally equipped to build a relationship and didn’t know how to date. Plus, I had no time what with all those people I had made over the years (the kids). And, I was still a wreck. It was a struggle to maintain the face of normalcy for extended periods of time. I couldn’t or wouldn’t do the fun activities he suggested we do –so it kind of became a very short-lived — arrangement.
But I had met my secret goal: I had been with a man, not my husband, who had not ever known me as someone’s wife. It didn’t hurt my self-esteem either, that after five kids and a nervous breakdown, I was able to snag, albeit briefly, a younger man who would have been “a catch” for any woman. It was just what I needed at the time. So when it fizzled with him, it was okay. He’d been my — my Transitional Man.
Fast forward a couple of years. The Ex announces he has a girlfriend now (he’d had them before but this time he was bringing one around the kids). So I did what every woman with a computer and Internet access would do – I electronically stalked — I mean — researched her. First stop? – Facebook. Success. I now knew what she looked like, what her hobbies and interests were, and that she was 10 years younger than me. Seeing her picture didn’t bother me. But as I scrolled down I saw something that did bother me. We had one mutual friend. ONE MUTUAL FRIEND. Not my Ex, of course not. I’m not his friend on Facebook or anywhere else. No, our mutual friend was my Transitional Man!!! Aha! That’s why her page yielded so much information. You see, most of the Girlfriend’s entries were accessible to me because I was a “Friend of a Friend.” Hmm. But then I realized that the”Friend of the Friend” stuff works both ways. Most of my settings were already “Friends Only” (I had a stalking issue I’ll blog about later) but just to be safe I took down pictures and personal information. It wasn’t long before the Girlfriend changed her settings to “Friends Only ” — meaning she’d probably looked at my page and discovered our Mutual Friend as well.
The real issue, however, remained — One Mutual Friend. I told myself that since The Girlfriend and my Transitional Man graduated college the same year maybe they knew each other from some professional group, even though she’s not a lawyer. The voice in my head was screaming WHAT IF THE GIRLFRIEND WENT OUT WITH MY TRANSITIONAL MAN TOO? I mean, that would just be wrong on so many levels.
I tried to dismiss the thought from my consciousness. How unfair and sick would that be? My chance, movie-like meet cute with my good on paper Transitional Man—and maybe he’d been with The Girlfriend, too?– Ew. That would be way too much exchange of DNA in a small world with not nearly enough degrees of separation. In short, it was just freaking me the hell out. And this is not a small town, mind you. We live in a large metropolitan area. What the hell? Yet I could find no common ground – school, work, etc. between the Girlfriend and my Transitional Man that would administratively explain their Facebook friendship. I resigned myself to leave the question unanswered. Transitional Man and I sometimes exchanged Facebook pleasantries (I “liked” his new “in a relationship” status) but I did not think it appropriate to approach him and ask.
A few months later (and after Transitional Man’s relationship status was back to being single), I got a text out of the blue from him about some law stuff. We chatted and had the “let’s catch up” conversation. I agreed to have coffee with him. (I hadn’t seen him since our last “date”). Since Transitional Man initiated the meeting, however, I thought it now appropriate to ask him ever so casually, while sipping over-priced coffee at Starbucks, about how he knows his Facebook friend — the Girlfriend.
Just Me With a Question: So, how do you know [the Girlfriend’s name]?
Transitional Man’s Answer: Oh. Yeah, I’m not that good friends with her but I’m really good friends with her cousin.
(Wait for it . . . wait for it . . .)
And we went out a couple of years ago.
In case it is in any way unclear: My Transitional Man had indeed dated my Ex–Husband’s New Girlfriend.
Just Me With . . . A Heart Attack — (Oops there it is.)
I thought Transitional Man was going to have a heart attack too . . . See Facebook Mutual Friend Part Two
Postscript: By the way, The Ex and the New Girlfriend are married now.
Postscript: The Transitional Man is married now.
Postscript: I am single. I am quite contentedly single.
Just Me With . . . 