Explanations such as, “By the time I realized it was too late, it was too late” are not at all helpful and only cause that question mark hanging over my head get bigger and bolder. Soon, it ought to be bright neon.
I awakened to the sound of the early, early early news. It was too soon to feel a mood or cop and attitude. I sort of remember turning over and then it began to spread through me. A feeling of…what is that, anyway? The next thing I knew, I was feeling like an old, used up, washed up woman and thinking of how the OW was 10 years younger than I was. So that data which says that the women men choose for their affairs not being attractive, necessarily? Forget it. Not only was she attractive, but she was young.
So how did I, the one who steadfastly felt that this affair was not about me, slide into this spot? When I realized who the OW was, how cute she was and how young she was, well, that left a serious dent in my fender. Let’s call it a T-bone.
Not that I think I’m ugly or anything, it’s really about him “kicking” me to the curb and abandoning me and our vows for her. That I will never understand. Rather, I may understand it, but what I come to understand is always the same thing: kicked to the curb. Who does that? Who is this man?
I admit, I was in a bit of a mood when we went to bed, having just watched “The Battle Between the Sexes” on The Doctors. No doubt this was a mistake. Hearing those guys talk about women’s bodies and mocking women whose bodies change as they age, etc… was…offensive and I thought, “Is this what we women are headed for? Judged by the effects of time? How fair is that?”
Of course, then I recalled that OW was 10 years younger than I am. And so it goes.