August 24, 2013
As most of you know, Right Guy and I spent last weekend with the kiddos – my brother’s three kids. I love them all dearly but my younger niece just slays me.
I hadn’t been with them 10 minutes (we hadn’t even gotten out of their house to leave for mine) before she starts telling me she wants cousins. This is not the first time she’s mentioned it. Last time she put in a request for two cousins. Noted.
Over the years I’ve watched as my older niece slowly grappled with family concepts. For a long time she understood that I was her aunt without really understanding that I was her daddy’s sister. When she finally realized that that is what an aunt is, it still took her a little while longer to figure out that her grandmother was also my mother. I remember her asking me if I knew her grandmother and I totally blew her little mind when I told her that her grandmother was my mother.
The younger two didn’t struggle with these concepts as much, presumably because the older one was there to guide them.
But my younger niece is just…uncanny. She seems to almost inherently understand familial relationships. She is named after Pops (feminine version of his name with the same nickname). She only met him maybe twice and I doubt she remembers either meeting. But she knows she’s named after him and when he died she would talk about him a lot. I think mostly her young mind was trying to process what it means to be dead. But she would randomly say things like, “I like these flowers, they are pretty. Let’s see…Pops is dead. That means… he’s never coming back…right? Can we have some popcorn?” These comments would just pop up seemingly out of nowhere and just as quickly transition to something else.
These days the comments seem to be about cousins. Which is somewhat surprising since they have a slew of cousins on the other side of their family. But none of them are local, so perhaps that’s the difference. I’m not sure what put this thought in her head but it is now firmly planted. She says she knows babies can take time. My older niece just rolls her eyes as if she knows our troubles.
When children ask questions, it’s my policy to give them answers – truthful answers but also age-appropriate answers. So I have never told the kiddos of all our struggles. I think my older niece has picked up on some of it but none of them have asked any direct questions. It’s also my policy not to answer unasked questions. I figure kids ask questions they can handle the answers to (with some editing, perhaps). They know we want kids and that we’re “working on it” but beyond that… what more can you say?
Well, after the cousin comment my younger niece did it again. About this time last year I was writing about Wrong Guy and my divorce (that story starts here). In one post I mentioned how Harry Potter saved me. I still have all my Harry Potter books and they are in a “Kid Bin” in my spare room along with Narnia, stuffed animals, crayons, construction paper and all manner of things to occupy any kiddos that happen to visit my house. Usually the contents of the Kid Bin are strewn across the floor within minutes of their arrival.
Apparently I used the above Valentine card as a bookmark way back when and it was still in the book. Super inquisitive young niece wanted to know what it was, what it said, who gave it to me and why. And so I told her that my Valentine had been not so nice to me and someone else had given me a card to make me feel better. More questions. I mentioned being married before. I’m pretty sure at some point in the past I had told her that I was married before but I don’t recall ever mentioning Wrong Guy’s name and we were long divorced before she was born. And even if I did mention his name it was years ago. But she remembered it. You could have knocked me over with a feather.
Then she asked, “How do you get divorced?” Which led to, “What’s a lawyer?”
April 14, 2013
In case you missed it, I’m writing a series – Dating After Divorce – about the lighter side of weird post-divorce dating.
When Your Date Gets Hijacked
No, my date (the guy) wasn’t literally car-jacked or anything. And, if anything, I was the one who did the hijacking. You see, I picked up a straggler on our date. One who I found infinitely more interesting than my date. But let me back up.
It was technically a second date – we had previously met in person, very briefly, for coffee. I wouldn’t really classify it as a date. It was more of a “OK, yes, you look and act normal so we can meet again later” encounter. I can’t say I felt a spark over coffee but I also found no reason not to go out with him again. And so we agreed to meet at a local restaurant/bar.
This particular restaurant/bar sort of has two sides. Literally. One side is just a bar with music, drinks and appetizers and laid-back atmosphere. The other side is a bar with a restaurant – still casual but a bit more upscale than the other side. Since we were meeting at dinner time I sat at the restaurant-side bar waiting for him. An older man, a veteran, sitting next to me struck up a conversation with me. He had some really interesting stories to tell (as old veterans often do) and was lamenting with me about whether or not I had been stood up.
It turns out my date had been waiting for me at the bar on the other side. Once we located one another we headed back to the casual side to play some pool. My old veteran friend and his buddy wandered over. Perhaps they were feeling protective of me or maybe they were just curious. Or maybe they simply wanted a change of scenery. I don’t know. They ended up joining us in our pool game and were generally quite amusing. I was having a great time. With THEM.
My date was, quite obviously, an amiable guy as this did not seem to bother him in the slightest. The buddy eventually left and we got hungry. And Old Veteran tagged along with us, I think at my(?) invitation, to have dinner in the restaurant. So… my date got hijacked by Old Veteran (or perhaps I hijacked Old Veteran?). And I was having a blast! Only problem was… my date, my actual date, seemed pretty boring in comparison. 😉
We ate and talked and his…vanilla-ness just seemed to ooze. He was a nice guy and looked great on paper and I actually really love vanilla ice cream. He had kids already which I actually found attractive since I knew I might not be able to have them myself. He had a good job, was good looking… everything you want on paper. But he was…kind of boring. I was having a MUCH better time on my hijacked date with Old Veteran.
[Notice how this guy doesn’t even rate a nickname?]
And then the bill came and Old Veteran dropped some cash on the table and left us. And I offered to pay the check. Now, I really am ALL for FEMINISM and things being equal, yadda yadda yadda. But I also want to be WOOed in some way. So his lack of arguing about the check and immediate response to give it to me was… off-putting.
But he was oblivious.
He walked me to my car, kissed me goodnight, said he had a great time and invited me to come to his house for dinner the following week. Having no better prospects, I agreed.
And then Right Guy took his head out of his ass and asked me out (after previously turning me down when I asked him out) for the same night as the home cooked dinner. I dropped no-name-guy like it’s hot and went out with Right Guy instead.
[BTW, Right Guy paid for our date and we looked like we needed a room. I’m not big on PDA, but Helllooooo SPARKS!]
So, in short, here’s some dating advice:
- If the old guy at the bar is more interesting than your date, just don’t bother trying another date with Boring Guy.
- Require SPARKS. I told myself over and over while internet dating that maybe they would come later. It’s either there or it’s not. It’s not gonna grow out of thin air. Don’t waste your time.
April 7, 2013
In case you missed it, I’m writing a series – Dating After Divorce – about the lighter side of weird post-divorce dating.
Someone requested that I blog about how to handle dating within the constraints of infertility (so this post will not be so “light”). At what point do you mention to your date that you are reproductively challenged? If things get serious you absolutely HAVE to talk about it. But will your partner think your timing is too late if you’re already serious? Or too early if you’re not serious enough?
Certainly your infertility is very much like an elephant in the room. To YOU. It’s huge. Lurking. Following you around. But this huge, lurking, stalking elephant is completely invisible to your partner until you tell him about it.
In my personal experience I didn’t have to deal with this very much. I’ve known about my endometriosis since I was 20 but I never knew whether it would actually be a real obstacle. Not every woman with endo has trouble conceiving (or so my rose colored glasses told me). I think I generally told partners about it at the point when the kid conversation happened. The one where you feel each other out about who wants to have kids (or not) and how badly or to what lengths they would go to make that dream a reality or crush it entirely. If you’re having sex, you should be having these conversations. As laughable as it sounds to me right now (cuz you know it’s practically impossible), the “What if I got pregnant right now?” question is absolutely a must in a sexual relationship.
[As an aside I will say that I almost married another Wrong Guy way too young simply because I knew my chances for kids were better then they would be later. I guess I made a mistake marrying Wrong Guy but the guy before him would have been Wronger in many ways.]
Even after my divorce I didn’t know if I was truly infertile. I thought it likely. But I DID know that HE had a low sperm count. So my elephant was a little smaller. And my heart was so shredded that I didn’t think it would ever be an issue. I never thought I’d be in a place where I felt comfortable enough with a partner to TTC before my (potential) reproductive years were gone.
Little did I know how right I was.
It was only when I was told that my reproductive years were coming to an early end that I felt like I might be able to go there with Right Guy. Talk about bad timing. He knew about my endo. But when it came to now or never I pretty much told him to get with the program or leave. OK, it wasn’t quite that black & white but I did make it clear that I was going to pursue kids with or without him. His participation would only dictate *how* I went about it. I also wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a deal-breaker for him. Sometimes I still feel like he should just walk away from me.
In short, I never had to face a brand new relationship knowing for sure that I was infertile. Everything has played out a little more in the gray areas for me. But that’s my story… for what it’s worth.
See you all next time for Dating After Divorce – When Your Date Gets Hijacked.
March 28, 2013
In case you missed it, I’m writing a series – Dating After Divorce – about the lighter side of weird post-divorce dating.
After my divorce (or technically right before it was final) I moved to a new city. Wrong Guy was military and I lived in a military town and The Ogress had moved there. There were ZERO reasons for me to stay there. Moving home, or back to anywhere I’d live before, seemed almost… cowardly. So I went on a little adventure. Into the desert. Where gambling is not just legal but big business.
This was all a long time ago when online dating was still fairly new. The current big players, Match and eHarmony, were around but there was still quite a stigma attached to online dating. But I was broke and couldn’t afford those anyway. So I went the (arguably) trailer trash route and attempted to meet people for free on Yahoo. There were some scary people on there but also some that seemed relatively normal. I met DJ Guy that way. He was nice. But there was no spark. We hung out a few times.
At some point I did a free trial of Match. I honestly can’t remember which service it was that led me to Vision Boy. But somehow we found each other (and I didn’t pay for the privilege). We met for drinks at a casino.
Let’s take a moment and review some common sense Dating Rules. Mostly they are rules for any social situation involving new people or people you don’t want to offend such as clients, bosses, coworkers, etc.
Dating Rule #1: Never have more than 2-3 drinks on a first date. Unless it’s a really loooooong date.
Dating Rule #2: Unless they are serious dealbreakers for you, try to avoid the conversational (and controversial) topics of religion and politics. Small talk rules on first dates. If you make it to Date #2-4 bring it up then if it’s important to you.
Dating Rule #3: Do your best to leave your crazies and/or baggage at home locked in the closet. We all know you have them but the first date is NOT the time to introduce them.
Dating Rule #4: If you ask a person out for a second date, make sure you get his/her name right. This also applies for any sex (unless it’s one-night-stand sex and then no one really cares).
Admittedly, these rules can be difficult to follow post-divorce – or even post-bad breakup. But save the excessive drinking because you have baggage and crazies for a night out with your friends.
However, in this case, I wasn’t the one who broke the rules.
Back to the date. He was reasonably good-looking and at least a hair taller than me so we sat at the bar making small talk for awhile (like you’re supposed to). It went pretty well. He was a professional poker player. Not a profession I was familiar with… I mean, as a real job. It seemed pretty odd to me but I was trying to be open-minded and he seemed fairly normal otherwise. And if you’re a good enough gambler to actually make a decent living at it… who am I to judge? I’m the one with the crappy day job I hate.
After 2-3 drinks we went to dance in the club. The great advantage of casinos is that all these things are under one roof. Your date can turn into dinner and a movie or getting your groove on on the dance floor at a moment’s notice.
After a few dances, which led me to believe he was already drunk or a very uninhibited dancer, we headed back to the bar to cool off. More drinks. And then came the story. I don’t remember how the topic of religion came up – I feel fairly certain I didn’t start it. Although I freely admit that I don’t always shy away from this topic like I should if someone else brings it up. But somehow, the subject of whether or not there is a God, was being discussed. He was adamant that God exists. He said he had proof.
ME: Proof? How can you have proof? You can have faith but how can you have proof?
VB: Because I’ve seen God.
VB: In a vision. I saw God. I know for a fact He exists.
ME: Um…you had a…vision? Was this some sort of desert/peyote induced vision?
VB: No. I just had a vision. I have them sometimes.
He talked for quite awhile about this vision while knocking back more drinks. I was oddly fascinated by it. For some reason, after volunteering that he had had this vision, and speaking about the general experience in great length, he decided it would be TMI to actually tell me what happened in the vision. Clearly his boundaries are different than my own.
In any case, it came to a point where I was going to need more alcohol to continue listening to him so I left while I could still drive home. I have no idea how he got home – he was fairly trashed. He had mentioned that he would be traveling for an international poker game the next week but that he would call upon his return.
Sure enough, when he returned I got an email addressed to some other woman asking me out on a second date. I politely responded pointing out his error. He was forever dubbed “Vision Boy” and I never heard from him again. 😉
March 28, 2013
Anyone who was reading this blog last summer knows that I am divorced. I think I made that clear when I wrote about Wrong Guy. Although Wrong Guy and I were TTC before we divorced, I can’t really blame infertility at all for the end of our marriage. I barely had time to process his abysmal sperm count before things went spiraling down to Hell in our marriage.
But the truth is, for many couples infertility leads to divorce. It’s probably not the sole cause (is there ever really just one?) but it can be a major contributing factor to a break up. Infertility is rough and will test even the strongest relationship. How many of us have lost friends over it?
Right Guy and I are not married. In part because I’ve been there before. It’s scary to think of going back there. Officially.
Recently, a couple of my tweeps have gotten divorced and are learning how to be single again. Single and infertile – Having been there I can attest to the fact that it’s kind of its own Hell. They are no longer TTC and question their roles in our little IF twitterverse. I’d hate to see them go. But I know that most of us are just not in that place anymore. And so, as an officially still single girl and a divorced woman who had to learn to date, I have decided to write a few posts on some of my more… ahem… interesting post divorce dates. They should prove entertaining to all. I hope.
I don’t plan on getting into the raw emotions of divorce or the ins and outs of navigating online dating or even the steep learning curve that is learning how to date after being married. Or even how to learn to accept that you still have worth/value/game/groove/etc. Unless someone requests that I plan to keep it light. The first installment will be published very soon.
August 19, 2012
This post is about the aftermath.
Yes, they are married now. At least, I’m pretty sure they’re still married.
I don’t speak to either of them. I’m not even sure what state they live in now. I have them blocked on Facebook. They can’t see me and I can’t see them.
But we do still have a handful of mutual friends. And so, inevitably, one of them posts something that I can see that involves The Ogress.
I will admit to some prior masochistic Googling of the Ex but for the most part I don’t do that anymore. I have Right Guy now. He tries my patience to no end but he’s a better man. But when I see something posted by a mutual friend, I just can’t NOT click.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to where I left off.
I moved. The divorce went through about a month later. About a year after that Pops got his first cancer and I ended up moving back home to help him.
During all that time I kept waiting to hear that they had married. Or that, even worse, she was pregnant. Her not wanting children so much practically guaranteed she’d get pregnant in my mind.
Around the time Pops was getting back on his feet, NowExMIL called and told me that they had married. She hated telling me but thought it should come from her rather than me hearing it through some other means. It was really very sweet of her. She has a rule about calling me – she won’t do it. And we have an agreement not to speak about Wrong Guy. She’s happy to hear from me but she doesn’t want to cause me pain if I should change my mind about staying in touch. So it’s on me to maintain that relationship if I choose. At the moment it has fallen off to me sending her yearly birthday and Xmas cards/emails and occasional updates on major life events (like when Pops died).
But I digress.
I think it was during grad school that I entered the “Obsessively Google Your Ex” phase. Both Wrong Guy and The Ogress have pretty unique names and are super easy to Google. I found references to him but he seemed to be avoiding online profiles and social networks. But The Ogress… she was all over the place trying to make it as a writer. Publishing short stories in any online rag that would have her.
And ultimately self publishing a book. A novel, a work of fiction, based on her time while he was deployed. She wrote a book about what’s it’s like to be left behind while your boyfriend is deployed. You know, your boyfriend WHO WAS STILL MARRIED TO ME at the time.
Perhaps I harp on that too much. We were separated. But for me, the whole thing happened so quickly I never had time to process it. We went from trying to get pregnant to separated and him having a girlfriend in TWO MONTHS. And I never saw it coming. Even with the advantage of hindsight I still wouldn’t have seen it coming.
That book, even four years after the split, made me feel like she was trying to steal my life. It wasn’t enough to steal my husband. She had to take everything else as well.
The nightmares began again. This time it was The Ogress appearing on Oprah because her book was featured in Oprah’s club. People were gushing all over her at what she had been through and how important, but often forgotten, military spouses are. The political climate was certainly right for that sort of story.
And… nothing happened. A few people bought it and read it but it didn’t really go anywhere.
Someone did interview her though.
And that’s how I learned that Wrong Guy had had a vasectomy.
She told their story. They were high school sweethearts who were unable to truly be together until they were 30 because life kept pulling them in different geographic directions. She romanticized the hell out of the destruction they left in their wake. There was no mention of her first TWO husbands or that Wrong Guy was her THIRD husband by age 30. No mention of Wrong Guy having left a wife for her or ever having been married before. It was all roses and hearts and high school sweethearts.
Yeah, right. She dated him for two weeks and then dumped him and made out with her teacher. How is THAT romantic?
Commentary aside, she also had to mention what an awesome man he is that was willing to get snipped so that there could not ever be the possibility of a child. Because with his sperm count that would even be possible. And now my snark is REALLY showing.
So, yes they are now married (I think) and no, they do not have kids.
But the other day a mutual friend posted a link to a short story she had written. And I didn’t have enough self control to not click. It was a story of rape. It was written as a political statement against all the recent pro-life legislation that would outlaw abortion in the case of rape. But it was a horrible story. Because it depicts a random home invasion rape (probably the rarest kind) of a woman who doesn’t want kids and actually stops to think – while being raped – about how she should have been fixed instead of her hubs because now she’ll be pregnant by her rapist. She also writes about how in the days/weeks afterwards she imagines having fought off her attacker like her hubs had taught her. I’m pretty sure no rape victim ever does that. But perhaps I’m wrong. In any case, she freely admits that it didn’t happen. And it doesn’t ring true in the slightest. And, in my trying-like-hell-to-be-unbiased opinion, it does a disservice to rape victims.
And she calls herself a feminist.
Again, I have digressed. Clicking on that link was just the beginning of my trip down the rabbit hole. Once I clicked on the first link, I couldn’t stop. I clicked and clicked until I landed on her website and saw the big announcement.
You see, that book she wrote and self published… it’s now being published. By an actual publisher. A small one, but a real one. And it has now been reviewed by The Huffington Post. And there’s some quote on the cover by a New York Times Best Selling author.
The Bitch is Back. Coming soon to a store near you. And someone might actually take her seriously this time.
And that, is what prompted me to tell the whole story.
At least she can’t go on Oprah now.
August 19, 2012
My apologies if you’re getting sick of this. But, if you’re here reading, I guess you’re not sick of it just yet. I really had no idea it would go on this long. I didn’t plan any of these posts out. I’m just writing as I go, telling the story as I remember it. So… bear with me, I guess. It should go more quickly from here.
Let’s see, I’m moved out, decidedly NOT pregnant, and trying to just function in daily life.
I stumbled across some kickboxing classes I wanted to try. I had always wanted to try it. I had taken a Tae Kwon Do class once but found it too… Eastern-Philosphy-Bow-To-Your-Sinsei-Wax-On-Wax-Off-Follow-These-Rules-BecauseISaidSo. I really just wanted to kick and punch things (and that was BEFORE all this crap).
Problem: I still wasn’t eating.
You can’t begin an exercise regimen if you’re not eating.
In the end, I ate. And I kicked. And I punched. And it saved me.
People always asked me, “So, do you just imagine Wrong Guy’s face on the punching bag?”
Answer: NO!! It was the one place, the one time of day when I DIDN’T THINK OF HIM AT ALL. I was going too hard and too fast to think about him. It was GLORIOUS.
I can’t remember if I’d started the kickboxing yet or not when I got the call. Or rather, the email since he couldn’t be bothered to remember my cell phone number. And he still had no idea where I was living.
We need to talk. Now.
I had only just found a sense of balance.
He was being deployed again. To Iraq. He had already arranged to get out of our lease but it was time to divide the stuff.
He didn’t know exactly when he’d be leaving. It could be as early as this weekend.
I had nowhere to put the stuff. And, as I discovered a few days later, I really didn’t want most of it.
I found an apartment, signed a lease and moved in… in FOUR days. And I got the cats by default. No ugly battle on that one. Score!
He asked me to file for divorce while he was gone. He tried to make me promise. I was non-committal.
As per usual with the Army, he didn’t leave that weekend. It was more like a month later. And during that time I heard that The Ogress came to visit and they holed up in a local motel together. And he took her out and introduced her to (our) friends (a.k.a. his co-workers). While this might fly in the regular world this is a big NO-NO in the military world. You simply do not flaunt your girlfriend while you’re still married to your wife. Especially not as a commissioned officer.
I was not alone in this opinion. For those that don’t know, the spouses have a phone tree when the soldiers are deployed. I had previously been near the top of that phone tree but had asked to be removed as one who calls and just be one who received calls. Girlfriends are generally not included in this phone tree but exceptions are often made for fiancees. Apparently Wrong Guy went around asking guys in his unit if their wives would contact his girlfriend (to be fair I think he just called her a ‘friend’ but everyone knew she was his girlfriend) for him whenever there was information to disseminate. I know this because two of those wives told me about it and said they had refused.
I refused to file for divorce while he was gone. For one thing, how would it look to divorce my husband while he was deployed? It would make me the bad guy to divorce the brave warrior while he’s off dodging bullets. And I STILL had hope he would change his mind. I was determined to not be divorced.
Any time I ran into the other Army wives, I could read the silent question in their eyes, “Why is she still here?” Seriously, why would you hang around a small military town if you could get the hell out? It’s a valid question. The answer was that I knew that, in the end, I needed to know that I had done everything I could to save my marriage. And, at that point, the only thing I could do was to not move. Just be there in case he came to his senses.
I had moved out just after New Years. Less than two months after our ill-fated visit to The Ogress. He deployed in late February. Around June I received a long letter as an attachment to an email. It was amiable. He apologized for saying he never loved me and said that statement was not true. I actually thought maybe he had changed his mind.
Then his lawyer called.
Apparently he did know my cell phone number after all.
In the state we lived in at the time, a no-contest divorce was pretty simple and fairly cheap as those things go. I saw no point in hiring my own lawyer, who would charge the same fee for doing nothing more than reviewing his lawyer’s paperwork. I did, however, seek some free JAG advice.
You might think the Boys Club is still very much alive in the military and you’re probably not wrong. But the guy I spoke to at JAG… he wanted me to nail his ass to the wall. I wasn’t interested in punishment, I just wanted to make sure I was protected. Since he didn’t go through JAG, I couldn’t either. But I had the free advice.
So when the lawyer tried to play hardball with me… I just brought up the fact that I could instigate a court-martial if I wanted to and that I had it, in writing, that he had committed adultery. An offense that is “unbecoming of an officer.” He had admitted it in that emailed letter. I really HATED playing that role. But he forced my hand. He had previously made promises regarding finances and he was now reneging. I HATED making it all about money. I’m not about money. But I had given up my career to follow him around and couldn’t just waltz right back into it. So I wanted, and felt I deserved, a little something to help me start over.
In the end, I got what I wanted – what he had promised – financially speaking.
Remember that apology? I said I never loved you but I didn’t really mean it. That one. Too little too late. I mean, how can you recover from something like that when it takes six months for a retraction?
But it was summer. And The Ogress had finished school and finished her Master’s. And she was moving to MY TOWN.
I began to have nightmares (yes, literally) about running into her at Tar.get. Or getting in to a car accident because I saw her in the car next to me and failed to brake and rear-ended somebody.
It was time to move. But where to?
That took some time to figure out. And ultimately is not relevant to the story. Except to say that I moved somewhere that my MIL moved to 6 months later and we still hung out.
What is relevant is that I finally moved in October – almost a full year after that ill-fated visit to the cold North of The Ogress. And it wasn’t until then that I started to think about what had happened during that visit.
You know that saying about removing the impossible?
Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. – Sherlock Holmes
I wasn’t drunk.
I wasn’t jet-lagged.
I wasn’t sick.
I must have been drugged.
I’m not kidding. It took a full YEAR for me to realize what had happened.
Could I prove it? No.
Can I prove it now? Hell No.
Do I believe it to be true? Yes.
But it took me a long time to accept and believe this.
I didn’t want to believe it. I mean, who would do that?
I assume it was her. But it could have been him. Or both of them.
By the way, lest you think I am a complete imbecile, let me explain that Wrong Guy has quite the magnetic personality. My family loved him. He’s an extrovert and tells great stories and is, in general, quite entertaining. He has piercing blue eyes and comes across as being very genuine. And not just to me.
I really believe, that had he known himself better, this would all have been avoided.
You see, at some point I learned the final piece of their historical puzzle. Remember that U-Haul he rented to help her move and leave her first husband? They loaded up her stuff and drove hours away and then she changed her mind. I knew about that event. He had mentioned it. It happened before I met him.
What I DIDN’T know was that he did all that with the expectation that she was leaving her husband FOR HIM. He thought or expected that they were going to be together after that. Why exactly he thought that I don’t know. I don’t know if they had an affair or not. But when she changed her mind, he was apparently so hurt that even when she made her play for him later, while he was dating me and before things were even that serious between us, he turned her down because I was the SAFER bet.
Thanks for that, Wrong Guy. Really, you could have saved me a lot of heartache.
I think there will be one more post as a followup to this story. Because I haven’t even gotten to the part that prompted me to write all this.