Saturday, September 29, 2012
The beauty of having a life with a man who was once married a raving psycho nut job, is that said nut job, never fails to revert to what is the “core” essence of her personality. Ugly. Vitriolic. Delusional.
Last weekend we returned home from a fantastic holiday in sunny Greece. After three or four years together, this was actually our first holiday on our own. It was a beautiful, stress free three weeks in heavenly Santorini.
For those that haven’t read my blog previously; or are sympathetic to the type of ex-wife depicted in my drama; I’ll make it clear from the start. Firstly, the type of ex-wife I’m talking about is the one who figures the relationship is crap; so they dump the husband only to discover it’s not so easy out there. You’re on the downward spiral; you’re in your fifties – and there are a lot of single women quite a few years younger. There is a man drought. Suddenly, the husband you dumped is going out with a younger woman… Hell, he even looks relatively happy with life!
So you whistle and pour on the guilt of “the kids” – the same kids you didn’t think about when you kicked said husband to the kerb in the first place.
The Harridan did this to the three or four girlfriends the Moodle had prior to me. Each time, the reconciliation lasted mere months before he was living in the shed/flat at the back of the property – but like a fool, he continuously fell for the routine and dumped who he was with, skipping back to Hell. I don’t think she tried it this time. I don’t really care if she did; if she did, it didn’t work.
So… We have been on holidays with the kid previously. The kid has been on several holidays with the witch. I figure we can take three weeks on our own. Aside from anything else, we were staying with a friend of mine in a villa in Santorini so had the argument for the kid to come ensued, I’d have gone on my own.
The flight home was in a word, a nightmare. 30+ hours in cramped conditions with the worst case of BO I’ve endured, sitting 2 seats away; eye watering BO. We get in at midnight and the next day the Squeeze is off to work while I attempt to unpack bags and begin the lengthy process of washing.
This is when the Harridan decides that the kid will stay here; after 3 weeks away, stuff everywhere and exhaustion. More guilt pours on as she neglects the fact that we had the kid for additional days the week we left. She doesn’t even think about the time she took him to Perth and then Bali without any thought to “needing his dad” then.
I didn’t care about the guilt or anything else. Staying here with all this crap to be done..? Not a chance. Its school holidays and we’ve both just had three weeks off, so can’t take time off as baby sitters. Instead, we pick him up and take him out to dinner before dropping him home again.
Then it’s a weekend swap and the kid is here for the weekend. I’m okay with this because the Squeeze hasn’t spent time for the weeks away, even though it throws all organisation out which makes my stress levels peak. We have planned to go to see a band with friends on Sunday – a date agreed to as it was a “non-kid” weekend; that’s okay, we’ll just have to work around it.
But that’s not good enough for the witch who tells the Squeeze that he is having the kid Sunday, Monday and Tuesday night also. Ummm, thanks, but no thanks.
The idea of the kid here watching 24/7 television for 5 days makes me shudder, but not as much as her telling us we are having the kid. The Squeeze writes and says, umm sorry, but no can do. So she replies to say in her typical, illiterate, “I’m king of the world” bullshit style:
well then he stays sun and mon nite
He can get bus home on tues morning and he can get bus to u mon about 5 He has pod app mon which i will take him too I feel yr input and attention to *kid* lousy
It isn’t about the kid; but I couldn’t care less if the world was ending – I will not be told what to do. I will not have the kid Sunday or Monday night. I do pause to ask him to get the silly cow to have the kids vampire bat toenails that have shredded my sheets, trimmed….
I don’t think she realises that it is my home. I have input here also. The world is not about her. It is about the Squeeze and I and all of our kids – not just hers.
Sigh, sadly, I realise that I’m wasting energy on hating the stupid cow; but my God, I’d love to practise my boxing skills with her in a ring for ten minutes!
Posted by Mistress at 3:23 PM