Friday, July 27, 2007

Dinner for...Nine and One Half?

Couple of years ago, a Lenox store near my mom was closing. My mom bought me a $700 *gasp* set of dinnerware for Christmas. She paid a lot less than $700, but I did check, and replacement coffee cups were going for $17.99 each on eBay.

It should really come as no surprise that DH hated...HATED the dishes.

I mean, was there ever anything that he really loved, other than himself?

But the dishes were just awful. The texture was wrong. The weight was wrong. The color was wrong. Even the sound they made was wrong. Who ever knew one could be so wronged by a dinner plate?

The suffering caused by my dishes was so profound that DH could simply not start out the day by eating off them. He would tolerate them at dinnertime, with a scowl and a two snotty comment minimum. But never, ever at breakfast.

He much preferred the three white Corningware plates and two Tupperware bowls he had taken from his first wife in his first divorce. Now those were acceptable breakfast dishes. I hear she pitched quite a fit when he took them, breaking up the set and all.

I probably should not have been surprised at the course of my telephone conversation with DH today.

A regular old person, who had never before encountered DH's utter lack of reasoning skills, might have greeted his conversation with a jaw drop to the floor.

But, I should not have been surprised at all.

He told me I could have the dishes.

How kind, seeing as they were a gift from my mom and he despised them. I was nearly moved to tears by his generous offer.

And to think I have accused him of never giving me anything?

But could I just please leave him a couple bowls and, maybe, three plates? After all, there are so many of them.


Hiding my momentary confusion with indignant laughter, it dawned on me that this must be his trademark.

Like Jack the Ripper or the Masked Bandit.

Two bowls and three plates. The women he leaves behind will always be recognized by their inability to provided table service for more than nine and a half guests.

And he...two more wives and he'll have a full set of dinner plates.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

My Fantastic Drama

When engaged in battle, it is always wise to rally one's allies around oneself.

Regretfully, DH has no allies.

So he has been reduced to soliciting support from my family members. Specifically, my sister-in-law.

Now, it should be noted that attempts to win my SIL over to the dark side would be about as effective as DH raising an army from within the ranks of MZ.

Yet he persists in his efforts, tripping over himself in his hasty attempts to brand me as a family outcast.

One such effort, so craftily created, entailed sending SIL a brutally honest account of his warped reality. He addressed, in his email, my vast failings as a wife and human being, primarily during the period of my doctor-ordered bedrest for preterm labor, although he prefers to refer to this as the time I "sat on my lazy ass." In my defense, I spent the rest of our marriage working full-time, sometimes with a second part-time job.

For the sake of honesty, please note that I have edited this email for grammar, punctuation, and proper spelling, none of which he chose to include. I would hate to give the false impression of...intelligence...on DHs part.

So do you believe everything [007] says? Maybe you or your husband [my brother] might want to call me and get my side.

OUR bank accounts and investment accounts? Those were MY accounts. During OUR marriage she did not do shit. OUR house in Utah was bought with MY money. OUR vending machines that I bought so that she would be able to stay busy while she sat on her lazy ass all day are MINE. Oh, by the way, I have to take care of those damn machines because, well, [007] did not have time.

She wanted a baby and as soon as she got what she wanted she left. She told me on 6/21 in front of my therapist she had filed for divorce. She had been gone three months with no sign that she wanted to work things out. I took her seriously.

On the 26th of June, I sent an email to a girl at work. I am sure you know of it because everyone else does. She had been gone for three months!! Why is that no one questions her? She was so mistreated? She lived off the fat of the land ever since she met me. I never asked her for anything. So she can fuck off DAMN bitch.

In case there is any question, he gave me less than $100 per year for the duration of our marriage. That would be roughly, cent per hour. Quite a bargain, even for a wife who sits on her lazy ass to keep from birthing a 23 week-old baby.

In contrast, I generally spent $200-$300 per month on his general comfort and care, including his cheese (that he would not allow me to eat) and his hemorrhoid cream.

The Rise and Fall of 007

I made a mistake.

It was bound to happen eventually. I knew this. Although, I was banking on DHs dimwittedness in aiding the postponement of the inevitable.

Unfortunately for me, my mistake was caught. I had sent an unpublished blog entry to my brother. Hoping to avoid being snagged by the SPAM filters, I used an old email address.

I forgot to delete the sent message.

Like a highly trained circus animal, DH pounced on the opportunity to mimic the actions of the master who had beaten him so brutally.

In the quiet of the darkened night (probably to avoid my spying eyes), he got in to my account and checked the sent folder.

Surveying the damage by the light of day, I received the shock of all shocks...

DH had forwarded my account of his chicanery and philandering to everyone in my address book.

How utterly mortified and shamed beyond words I was, as I sat there whimpering in defeat.

My entire address book.

I slowly made my way through the list of names, thinking to act quickly to stem the flow of humiliation that threatened to overwhelm me. What would I do if my entire circle of friends found out what a weasel snit booger my DH was.

He had sent it to...





oh! another me

my sister's closed account

and my dad.

Wow! That's the slap on the wrist I get for keeping track of my junk email accounts in my address book.

He also sent a personalized email to my SIL telling her of my worthlessness (more on that later).

To add a final, wounding blow, he closed my account.

That's right.

The account I had not used in over 5 months. Closed. Gone.

Pausing briefly to wail at my loss, I considered my options.

Knowing that DH had likely spent a wakeful night recounting the ways in which he was more clever than I, I thought I should call this morning to burst his bubble.

I could hear the snicker in his voice as he asked me why I was calling.

I gave him until the end of the day to see to it that my account was restored, lest my attorney and the police become involved.

He hung up.

It took him only an hour to reconsider. It was a mistake, he said. He didn't know what he was thinking. He shouldn't have done it. He was stupid. He guesses he is just a stupid man.

Oh really?

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Matters of Heart

Recently, my mom found herself admitted to the hospital over some concerns with her heart. Fortunately, everything turned out just fine.

Everything, that is, except for the blemish left upon DH's soul for conduct unbecoming even a remorseless asshat.

In a moment of worry, it would seem that my common sense suffered from a minor slippage. I confided in DH about my worry for my mom.

Yes, I know...this was about as effective as asking for sympathy from the pile of doggie dung baking in the sun on the edge of the sidewalk.

DH was charitable enough to inform me that I was personally and solely responsible for my mother's heart troubles.

It seems that I, being a lazy, selfish, worthless, whiney, ungrateful, childish, manipulative, LOSER of a helpless little girl am driving my mom ("that poor woman") to have a heart attack.

If anything happens to her, it will be MY fault and my fault alone.

"Don't ever forget it," he admonished me.

It was kind of him to tell me, really. I chose to pass it along here because I feel that I've been really hard on DH lately. I may have somehow given the impression that he was heartless or perhaps, just plain evil.

In truth, as you can see by the deep and moving concern he expressed for my mom, he is a kindhearted, benevolent soul.