On New Year’s Eve an interesting scenario was going on in my house. I was alone. Well, actually, my mother was sleeping in the next room. Although it was the first time in 10 years I had enough social energy to go out, I was still, involuntarily, dateless.
New Year’s is always a time of reflection, and debauchery. I remember ringing it in before marriage in Barbados, Boston and on a boat. I remember during marriage going to a party crying because I had to fire an au pair, and consequently had no childcare for my 3 warriors, I mean children, with my return to work looming in less than 24 hours.
Tonight, at the stroke of 12, when I should have been getting passionately kissed (thankfully Mom was asleep), instead I was on the computer. FaceBook timesuck. When you have nothing better to do…FaceBook.
An e-mail popped in from wasbund ex husband (my new way to insult people is to not capitalize their names if they are not important enough to warrant being a proper noun). What a surprise. Some casual, friendly banter. How…almost…fun. Considering we have never had an even remotely civil conversation before or since. He was home, apparently drinking alone, with my children tucked cozily on their cots in his shack.
Flip over to smartphone. Boyfriend of the time, Knives, is responding to my text. Yes, he went to an artist’s party. No, I wasn’t invited. No, he didn’t think I’d want to drive that far. No, he didn’t really miss me. Miss me, miss me, now you gotta kiss me. Too bad for me on that one. (Even mistletoe has lost its potency these days.)
So what’s wrong with this picture? Friendly banter from hateful husband. Big blowoff from boyfriend. And both happening at the same time. Luckily I had not drunken (I’m not drunk!) enough of my cocktail to cross wires in messaging with these two clowns. But it was close. I was balancing two opposing forces, two opposing worlds, precariously in my hands.
Out with the old, in with the new. A harbinger for the New Year.
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