So, now that I'm officially divorced (three years later) and still dealing with the emotional, legal and financial ramifications, I find myself questioning my belief in marriage. Divorce has been a big reality check. It's reminded me that, as much as my marriage was a public declaration of my love and commitment to my EX, it was just as much a business deal.
And that's the dude I turned The Rock down for. But rather than wallowing in misery and regret, I became a slut. Not a slut in the numerical sense, though. Let's just say, I lost any sort of cautionary discretion when it came to sleeping with someone before really getting to know them. Yes, even less discretion than cohabiting with someone within weeks of meeting. Put it this way: if I knew your name and you made me "tingle"... I was down.
This newfound realization that I was, perhaps, better off without my EX gave me brain space to fantasize about my potentially exciting new life as a single girl. I could start fresh. Create a world where work would be fulfilling, life would be social and love would be an adventurous thrill ride of hot men. In fact, I was gonna be the "Samantha" for the first time in my life! Why the hell not? After eight loyal years to the same dude, I owed it to myself to flex my sexual prowess all over New York City.
All that self-help woo-ha couldn’t have prepared me for the next whammy. If anything, it just thickened my rose colored glasses which, when finally shattered, led to corneal lacerations that would render me blind to hope and love for the next couple of years. It all started with me chit-chattin’ on the phone with a mutual friend of mine and my EX.
Brooklyn and red wine now served as our buffers. Brooklyn had no idea that daddy had cheated on mommy and that our family was irrevocably broken. Or that daddy was going away and she was gonna stay with mommy in this concrete jungle. She had no idea she was destined to a life doing her business on sidewalks, making new friends at a new dog park and learning to embrace long, cold, snowy winters bundled in a coat and rubber boots.
I couldn’t mimic my EX’s cheerful tone and he instantly inferred my “let’s just cut-to-the-chase” kinda mood. Eschewing any phoniness I continued in my distant, matter-of-fact voice. “So, I’m calling because I just heard that you cheated on me on New Year’s Eve. Is that true?” SILENCE. “Well, I guess I’ll take your silence as my answer.” More uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for him. In that moment, I oddly felt in control. I felt like I had built up the emotional armor to protect myself from anything else the Universe decided to hurl in my direction.
As my gut churned, I could see the tears welling up in her eyes and I knew I was destined for a doosey. My mind was spinning with worst case scenarios about what could be going on in her life, hoping that reality would soften the blow of my imagination. My thoughts were interrupted with my BFF saying, “It’s really hard for me to tell you this because I love you so much...” Wait, this wasn’t about her? It’s about ME? I can’t handle any more bad news!
