Damn My Ex 

so marie and i are sitting in the bed of her truck after class let out, just talking like normal.  we’d been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.  nothing had happened yet, but, ya know- i was hoping.

she drops this bomb on me: “my baby’s daddy called from my old hometown.”

“uh-huh, did you tell him to go to hell?”

“i was gonna, but he asked me what my ring size is.  so now we’re engaged, but nothing’s changed between us.”

i was working as a server when a stack of pans in the back of house fell on my head. obviously, i was in pain.  worse than that, though, i was getting disoriented and confused.  probably a concussion, right?  so i call my then fiance, john, who was of all things, a nurse.

i explain to john what happened and asked him to take me to the hospital so i wouldn’t have to pay for an ambulance. (i know, i know, my employer should’ve done that.  what can i say? i was 21 and stupid.)

his response? basically, what the hell was i thinking, why did it go and do something so stupid, did i know he just got home from work and was really tired, did i have to go right now, and could he get something to eat first.

he finally picks me up and drops me off at the hospital, after he stopped at a drive-thru. yeah, he dropped me off.  he tells me later that i was probably faking and i wasted his time.  i was stupid to go to the ER, and i was going to have to pay for it.

i’m fine, thanks for asking, honey.

so marie had a daughter, my step-daughter.  her baby’s daddy finally started paying child support.  my thought is, okay, that money will so help pay the bills.  food, rent, electric, etc.  nope.

marie says that since the check came in her name, she could do whatever the hell she wants with it.

ok.  so i started charging her rent.  time to pay up.

my ex, marie, was an absolute bitch.  she thought of no one but herself, and didn’t hesitate to make others do work that she was perfectly capable of doing.

so we’re all at Lenny’s, the 24-hour diner.  like 8 or 9 of us.  marie orders the chili cheese fries.  it comes out, and the bacon is sitting right on top.  whole.  in strips.  no one thinks anything of it.  we’re talking, laughing, and smoking like normal, and marie waves down the waitress.

“my bacon isn’t crumbled.’” the poor waitress looks at us, like, “is she for real?”  we’re just like “yes, she is, and she’s not with us.  please don’t spit in our food.”

yep.  marie made her take the appetizer back, have the cooks remake it, and bring a new one.  bitch.

a few weeks after getting married, i asked my then wife, marie, if she could do something for me while i was at work.  i don’t remember what now, but trust me, it was trivial.

i come home, and after relaxing for a bit, i ask if she did whatever the hell it was i had asked her to do.

“no”

“why not?”

“i’m not your slave”

“understood, but you said you would”

Pay attention to her reply: “if it was my word to give, then it’s my word to take back”

shortly after getting married, my mom took us out to eat.  no place fancy, but a big deal for my mom.

this place had a jar of suckers (lollipops) in the lobby.  i asked my wife of less than two weeks what color she wanted.  she got purple; i got red.  she put them in her purse, no big deal, right?

next day or so, i ask for my sucker.  her: “they were both in my purse, so they were both mine.”

through the ensuing argument i learned that:

• anything in her purse is hers
• i have no right to anything in her purse
• if i wanted the other sucker, i shouldn’t have let her put it in her purse
• it shouldn’t have bothered me anyway. it’s just a sucker (and apparently, so am i)

my ex-wife, marie, loved purple.  unfortunately, she was also the oldest six year old i have ever met.

we used to hang out at a friend’s house almost nightly.  marie notes their dinnerware’s colors.  dark mediterranean tones: dark mustard, deep blue, burgundy red, dark jade green, and, you guessed it, dark purple.  lisa, the woman of the house, says marie can use the purple plates anytime she eats there.

fast-forward three or four months.  i’m @ work; marie is over for dinner.  lisa hands out the dishes, giving renee the purple one. marie throws a full-blown temper tantrum.  right in the formal dining room.  accusing lisa of lying and playing favorites.

thank god i was not there.  moral of the story:  never marry an immature person!