Three months ago my husband of over 30 years came home and announced that he was having trouble with “the marriage.” THE marriage, as if he were coming down with THE flu or going to THE store. It is, after all, a general reference where we are concerned. It’s ours, and as far as I’m concerned, you don’t just pop in one day and decide your having trouble with it. We’ve slogged through three children – some more difficult to raise (I’ll admit one was more tamed than raised,) and this was to be our happy fun time, right? WRONG. Another myth they don’t tell you at the shower. “Some tupperware for you darling. He’s going to be ‘strangely’ and ‘confusedly’ unhappy in thirty years once you do all the shit work.” Now, I admit, I’m not being nice here. It’s been one of those “REALLY?” kinds of days, and I’m biting back. You have to every now and then. Of course like couples we have our own backstage story. The daily getting up and getting to. The bills to pay and the promises to keep – the miles to go before we sleep. BUT?! I’m getting ahead of myself.
So, back to three months ago. It turns out my husband doesn’t find the passion that he needs – he isn’t as physically or emotionally attracted to me anymore as he’d like (yes he went there.) He says he doesn’t want to live the rest of his life missing the great marriage that he needs and deserves. He assured me that, I too, deserve better. I’m not going to go on and on about how I felt about this, but “FUCK YOU” pretty much sums it up. It’s true, I’m no glamor girl. My waist line grows and shrinks like a 15 year old penis – and, again like said penis, for no detectable reason. I don’t have time for makeup, and I would rather climb a tree than have my hair “did” (as they say here in my little southern town.) My man, turns out, likes red nails and, “like a peacock,” feels like his partner needs to do it up a bit more. Who has time to “do it up?” I work till two and then clean a house resplendent with dogs, cats, and various people over 20 who keep showing up. I know, this is where I have to keep from going on and on – but I do spend an inordinate amount of time at the grocery store buying wild salmon, free ranging organic chickens and the free ranging organic eggs they produce, dog food with no by products, coffee that is fair trade, milk with no hormones, and on and on and on and on and on…Then our house, which is old and tends toward mildew, needs to be taken care of before himself gets home. And the bills are a Barnum Bailey juggle between never paying interest on anything, paying children’s college out of pocket and buying said larder stores, combined with his kind, but all too often, “here, I’ll give you $500 dollars stranger.” Ok. I’m being a bitch. I must take a moment out here in himself’s defense. He’s a sweet, kind man. Everyone likes him. Had you not read this, you would too. When ever I lacked self-confidence, he was always the person that picked me up and reminded me that he adored me – with great love and passion. He’s always been my wonderful boy. But I think he’s gotten lost..
Pronouncement made, himself said “we can’t deal with this until after my medical boards.” He’s a doctor, so the big old nasty boards take precedent (said with snark.) That gave us around 3 months of fussing and fighting and me going through every nugget of his personal life – I was certain he was having an affair because this guy would never do, or say, or think this stuff and, because extra-marital sex is sexual heroin, I was on a mission to route out the infidel. There’s no use fighting for something that is unwinable, and you can’t fight sexual heroin, right? That was a disaster. My mind became fogged and everything I found was CERTAIN EVIDENCE. Every note and list pointed to some beautiful, thin, full-nailed young girl – with whom I was certain he was enjoying the carnal world with between patients and during the last hours of his day. Obsessed? Yes, I’ll take a heaping bowl full, please.
It’s been a hellavu (to quote the cheese,) long three months. Today was counselor day! Whoopee! Basically, I spent the entire session ranting and raving at himself with the counselor doing his best to call interference and give the other guy a chance to play. Himself cried. That was good. He needed to feel badly. It was just the first day, so the “trek has just begun,” as our sweet referee said. I’d rather do the Appalachian Trail.
I’m not easy. I fight. I scratch and punch. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let this go without a fight. Between us, we’ve raised some fine children and have memories that would fill up a Hallmark Store. We’ve held each other through dark storms that seemed hopeless – now that’s passion, right? Until tomorrow, friends…xo
janetgrounds 