I have a fantasy where I grab the O.W. by the hair and forcefully shave a random pattern through her dark roots with unfettered delight. I imagine she struggles, but can’t break free. I see her in her blue turtleneck ski sweater, day after day after day.
How do I know she has dark roots and a blue ski sweater? Get this: the O.W. showed up at my mother-in-law’s funeral a month ago. She drove hours just to see my husband, who had been fending her off for 6 months. When I asked her, “How do I know your name?” she startled, turn and nearly ran in the other direction. I figured, then, that she must have been an old girlfriend. I just didn’t know how recent.
My husband didn’t know she was there. Someone made a remark about how many of the old group were there and listed her name, to his dismay. After I learned of the affair and asked my husband why he introduced us, he said, “I introduced you because I wanted her to see that you were real; you, the kids, our family.”
Apparently, this was a problem. When he told her it wasn’t happening again, she ignored him. She was unconcerned that her husband was trying to contact me. He told her he wasn’t leaving me and she was making plans to leave her husband. When he told her, repeatedly, that it was over and not to contact him, she’d lay low for a short time and then he’d get an email, saying.
“I know you said not to contact you, but…”
She had put a lot of work into him. When the topic of their relationship inevitably came up, his version was that she threw him over for greener pastures, but that’s not how she remembered it at all. History was revised, reminiscing followed, as did the flattery and the admiration before she made her move.
“We should have gotten married.”