The 1,763-Day Weekend
Part 7 — It’s Too Late, Baby, It’s Too Late

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HeartbreakerNow I would love to tell you that, the stress of the wedding behind us, the last eight days before NowEx had to return to Mexico went well. But while they were generally better than the previous two-and-a-half weeks, there were some major zingers. One in particular was so unspeakable that I’m only revealing it now that the divorce is finalized, and quite frankly it negates my previous sentence that the last eight days were better!

Our wedding night wasn’t consummated; he had had too much wine at the wedding. But that’s not the unspeakable zinger. No, it’s that, at one point as we were back home and in bed, he muttered with a great sigh and with what sounded like infinite regret, “I hope we didn’t make a terrible mistake.”

I found out the next day that he’d been bothered by my smoking in bed as he slept unrestfully in drunkness while I, still too excited to sleep, watched TV. But instead of saying just that — “Please don’t smoke in bed, it bothers my sinuses” — he made that most unimaginably vile statement. And in a fit of total denial and just as dysfunctionally, rationalizing that it must be either the booze or indisgestion talking, I replied after a good two or three minutes of stunned silence, “Well I know that *I* didn’t make a mistake!” Then I got up, went to my computer, and wrote what now stands, at least for me and probably for you as well from now on, as my most surreal posting ever at aMMusing.

Anybody else in his right mind — anybody else but me — would have called the Justice of the Peace first thing the following Monday and asked him to rip up all the paperwork and pretend that nothing had happened in the home of the Queen of Sheba on the night of February 22, 2008.

Except I didn’t call the JP the following Monday. The thought didn’t even cross my mind. In fact, I only thought of it as I was writing this long, long set of blog entries, more than four years after the fact and less than one week after receiving the papers signaling that the divorce is finalized. Even though only five hours had passed between exchanging our vows and his reprehensible comment, I figured it was too late. Indeed, the knot had been tied, I thought, and it’s too late now to untie it.

Instead, for the next 18 months, I chose to walk on eggshells.
 
 
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