Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (7 page)

"I'm so glad, because I know from experience that he has crabs." I lied to her.

"Your words can't hurt me." she purred.

"I would also get a tetanus shot." I said meekly, "because that floor is a disease ridden cesspool ripe with urine." I scoffed. What? I'm trying to be nice. People pee on that floor.

I really wish I had done more. I just don't know if I was ever fully developed as a person. I worked to get straight A's in high school, slaved away two years as in intern at
Gossip. After landing a job
I got married to the only guy I ever liked and then started my 6 years of domestic bliss while working fulltime. Now that I'm divorced maybe I should do something else. Maybe get a hobby or talent. I browse the classifieds and notice there is a class this weekend on life drawing. I read more. It's for beginners and advance painters. They set you up with all the tools necessary to complete the drawing and have you draw a male model. Oh how exciting.

I arrive Saturday at 6:45, fifteen minutes before it starts. I get inside and am directed to my easel. I stand there and wait while the room slowly fills up. Oh, no. Guess who just entered. Isabel, the woman Henry slept with. And of course she is directed and placed at the easel right by me. She is taking off her lavish mink coat, revealing her skinny sculpted body, and hanging it on the coat rack behind us. She is wearing a light blue halter top that reveals a newly pierced belly button. It looks red and kind of infected. Good. I hope she dies! Or at least is in a lot of pain...like me. Her long black gypsy hair extends over her round ample bottom. Her skirt of choice was one modeled after a hooker stabbing. It's black leather
with a cute little red belt.
She sports long black latex boots that looked hand crafted to fit her body. Her eyes are blue and green. She is wearing a black purple tie away head band which looks to be encrusted with diamonds. To anyone other than me, she is the picture of perfection, but every time I look at her, the image of her straddling my husband on the couch flashs through my demented mind.

Every one quiets down when the male model enters. Now, you know my life and you probably can guess my luck. No, it's not my ex Henry, but good guess. It's the judge. Judge Right, flaunting his flabby 50 year old body in my face. I'm not saying a 50 year old body isn't beautiful in its own special way but when you rule against me all I see is a disgusting blob of injustice standing before me. Why is he naked? Because he the male nude model, duh!

"Ok, class. I want you to really draw what you feel, because without emotion a drawing will never come to life." Exclaims the art instructor who resembles a crack whore with Gossip jewelry. I have to abandon my mission of learning anything, but I do take full use of the materials given to draw a very realistic devil, complete with the horns and "devil's pitchfork". If you are not familiar with the devil's pitchfork , it's a 3-D image that you can't tell where or how all three prongs of the fork originated.

The art instructor came over to my drawing, "oh dear, I don't think you got the concept of the class." She tisks with her mouth at me. Tisk Tisk. Her fake eyelash is hanging lopsidedly on her left eye. Her lips look stained in cherry cool aide and I'm pretty sure a fine tipped sharpie was her choice of eyeliner.

"Draw what I feel when I see the figure model, yeah I got the concept?" I said sarcastically.

"But you drew a devil." Marie said motioning to my drawing. I figured her name was Marie because on each knuckle of her rich hand was a letter. And all five knuckles spelled Marie.

"I know what I drew." I said blandly noticing that her fake gold jewelry was giving her a green ring around her neck. This is common for fake gold wearers. I can't afford fake gold, so I have never had this.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Marie says trying to sound sympathetic.

"I understand." I lied. I paid for this class; if they ask me to leave I think I should get my money back, right?

I leave and go outside to my car. Once outside I search around in my purse for my keys. What? No! They are gone. I set my purse on the car and start empting its contents. Yes, the keys are missing, or stolen. It must have been Isabel . Everyone in the town is out to get me. I'm just about to march in there when I notice my keys dangling from the ignition. I really am my own worst enemy. I crawl under the trunk and reach my hand into a rust hole and pop the trunk open from the inside. My car was made during the era where kidnapping was common and the place of choice of stuffing them was in the trunk. So the car company installed levers in the trunk, so you could open it from the inside. After successfully popping the trunk, I grab my red metal lunch box from elementary school and open it to retrieve my spare key. When I was a kid metal lunch boxes were really cool, way cooler then a paper bag.

I walk back and unlock the car door. Once inside, I feel something under my feet. I reach down and pick it up. I gasp and pull back when I find out it's
a dead rat.
A big, bloated, black bastard of a rat. It's a bastard because it chose to die in my perfect car. Anyways, my car is where rats go to die. That's nice, I throw the body out the window and it lands in the bushes. Is it wrong that I debated putting the dead rat in Isabel's blood red mustang? She got the luxury model, the one I picked out and Henry said he would buy for me when he got his first paycheck. She stole my dream car, but anyways, is it wrong that I thought of just sitting there and waiting for the class to get over? That I thought about watching her discovering the rat? That I
imagine
her running back into the building and calling Henry to tell him about how the world is really out to get her? Is it wrong that I'm smiling thinking about this right now?

Dear Mr. Successful businessman with your fancy car picture, I must decline your marriage proposal. For two reasons: one, we have never met, and two, I can't afford to take care of you. Yes, that is what you want, isn't it. A mommy to take care of you. To love and hold you while maintaining a six figure income so you can enjoy all the crap you want that I cannot possibly afford. You want money for this, that or another thing. You keep asking me about my bank account and you blatantly asked me how much income I take home so you can manage it. Because that's what I have right? A money management problem. Not a billion in debt from living the rock star life style. Well
tough
. If you insist on me paying for everything, then we are doing it my way. Let me introduce you to a little thing I call a budget. And while you are getting familiar with it, make sure to notice that supporting you is not on it. Do not piss on my leg and tell me it's raining. I'm smarter than I look, not much, but a little. I am not asking you for financial support so do not expect you can just show up at my place, move in and party your life away like a rock star. You must be out of your mind.

"I just don't understand why you can't watch my three kids, work full time and clean the house." he exclaims in video chat. This is Monkeyman58 but his real name is Calvin. He lives at his mom's house after, according to him, he was unlawfully detained and sentenced to 6 months in a minimum security prison for an accidental robbery. Now me being me and a nosey Nelly, looked him up and found out he tried to hijack a woman's purse. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't on a woman at all; but an off duty cross dressing cop, who unlike me, mastered walking in high heels. So now Calvin is out of prison and looking for a new mommy aka a sugar mama
. He has three kids and
whether or not the baby mamas are in the picture is not clear. His mom lives off her disability check which Calvin cons from her every chance he gets.

"What don't you understand" I say bleakly. I'm
pretty sure that everyone understands why I can't have an ex con with three kids living in my small bedroom. It's not rocket
science, I'm not pulling out complex reasoning to justify my insanity. I cannot support you and your kids because I can barely support myself. You and your children cannot move in with me because there is barely room for myself.

"What are you, stupid, woman." Calvin shouts, adjusting his crouch. "You need to step up in this relationship." He says spitting into the camera. Well, that's gross. Spitting into the camera, really?

"This is our first virtual date, so I ask you what relationship?" I start looking around me for my purse in case I want to make a quick getaway, then realize it's a video chat, I'm already home.

"Who is going to feed my kids now?" He demands. Standing up revealing his Pokémon boxers and thick black leg hair.

"How about you? They are your kids." I answer honestly. What? He made them. Why am I expected to raise them and probably him. It sounds like he needs some growing up.

"Well, you're a bad mom!" Calvin shouts. Throwing what looks like a large purple crack pipe on the floor, shattering it into a million pieces.

"I'm not their mom." I exclaim. Thank goodness I don't have any kids. I can't afford to take care of myself right now, let alone kids. I just don't get where people get off thinking that I am responsible for their kids and them.

I walked across the street early on a Monday morning. I called in sick, but that was a lie. I just wanted a break. Did you know that according to my parents, this is my midlife crisis and once I stop messing around I will go back to Henry. Really? I'm the one messing around? So what happened was: last night my parents requested a video chat, and of course I obliged.

"Oh honey, you look awful, did you gain weight?" My mother, 73, with dyed red hair asked. My mom sells Gossip cosmetics out of the garage. She claims that they are homemade but she just repackaged Gossip cosmetics and she sells them at a profit. She is wearing a lime green sports bra and my dad, 75, is in his white underwear. My dad used to work for the Gossip clothing company in the factory, but he is now on disability for his bad back. What happened was, he slipped on the freshly mopped floor and in the process grabbed a fiberglass mannequin what was dressed up as Santa for the holidays to raise moral. Well my dad hit the floor and the mannequin shattered into a million pieces making a big noise and a bigger mess. His coworkers
ran over concerned and my dad complained of back pain, however the company had its doubts. My dad had to
hire a lawyer from Bubble and Company, the same company Henry works for. My dad ended up winning the case and his disability. Just between you and me he didn't hurt his back, but in the town of Gossip,
everyone is an opportunist. Back to why my parents are dressed so
ridiculously. It isn't that hot outside but my dad always cooks everything in the oven. We never owned a microwave. So it is hot in their house.

"That's your first question, did I gain weight?'" I asked hurt. I'm wearing a semi new t shirt; it's only a little bit yellow. I can't afford to shop at the Gossip clothing store in the mall, but I can shop at the Good Will.

"We are worried about you." says my mom. She leans in close to the computer, but not the camera. I don't think she knows where the camera is located. This is their first computer and all they really do is play solitaire.

"I'm fine." I scoff.

"You divorce your successful husband, lose everything and you claim to be fine?" My mother accuses. She still does not know where the camera is located, she is looking at the key board. I should be taping this for a u-tube video. It's much better than the comedies on TV.

"It was just a divorce, it happens to a lot of people."I say, pulling nervously at my shirt.

"But I never expected it to happen to you. You were our future." I grab my Gossip soda and take a long drink. I set it down then look into the camera.

"I can still be your future" I said with a straight face.

"Marissa, you look like a cow and you have nothing to show." Says my mom, who now has gotten bored of looking at me and is clicking away, probably playing solitaire.

"What exactly am I supposed to show?" I ask picking up one of my cats and stroking her head.

"For it, you have nothing to show for it. You are 27! You do not have much time before your clock runs out." She says while my cat sticks her butt in my face.

"I'm on a dating site." I say pushing my cat aside.

"An online dating site! Are you crazy? You threw away the captain of the football team turned lawyer to be on an online dating site!" She screams.

"He cheated on me." I say bluntly.

"Men cheat, that's what they do." She said. I hear music in the background; she must have skipped to a new game, pin ball maybe.

"So I'm just supposed to forgive him." I say looking around for some chips.

"Now it's he who has to forgive you dear." she says distracted by her computer game.

"What did I do?" I ask, grabbing at my big bag of Gossip potato chips and stuffing a few handfuls into my mouth.

"You humiliated him. Do you have any idea what it is like to rise up from poverty and become a rich lawyer just to have your wife decide to get a divorce out of the blue?" She accuses. She knows Henry didn't grow up poor, but she tells everyone he did. He is her favorite child, only he isn't her child, I am.

"It wasn't out of the blue, he cheated on me on our anniversary, in our home." I plead, grabbing
my soda and taking a sip.

"In his home." She corrects me. I paid for it but it's his home. How is that fair?

"Did you call about anything in particular?" I ask, wanting to wrap this up.

"Yes, I called to tell you to ask him to take you back." she says.

"Why?" I ask. I mean is my life so miserable that I need to get back with my cheating ex husband?

"Haven't you been listening, he is successful, you need him. You have always needed him." She says moving to switch chairs so my dad can play the game.

"I don't need him." I say stuffing more potato chips in my mouth.

"Really? Look at your life. You are living in an apartment with two roommates and you are driving an abomination." She says picking up envelopes and licking them. My parents only send out mail once a year so this weekend all the holiday, birthday, and anniversary cards go out. My mom hates driving but their neighbors steal the mail, so once a year she drives down to the post office to drop off a year's worth of mail.