The end of the year should appropriately end with the last communication I had with Loser. It was just a few emails exchanged between us and it was clearly the end.
We had this beautiful bedroom furniture when we were married. It was this elegant set..four poster mahogany king sized bed, dresser and mirror, chest of drawers, armoire, a sleep number mattress and the traditional bedside tables. I had bought them with the money I made running EMS. It was Losers’ favorite furniture.
It had been in storage since we sold the house in C********. He got it out and crammed it into his condo. Obviously, I was never going to use it again and he had been told he wouldn’t be “allowed” to use it so he said he thought he might sell it.
My youngest daughter had expressed an interest in it so I asked him to sell it to me. He said he wouldn’t sell it to me but he would give it to me. I was going to store it for her so I told him that I would let him know when I made arrangements to have it picked up.
I didn’t realize that our divorce had become final on July 27th because my attorney never bothered to pick up the final decree from the courthouse, otherwise I would have never emailed Loser about the furniture.
I had gotten the cute little note from “somebody” that Loser was taking his WTC to Denmark and Norway to see (and proudly introduce her to) his friends. The note asked me if he had ever taken me (which of course, it was well known that he hadn’t) and went on to say they were going to have a wonderful time together.
I had been calling my attorney to ask about the divorce. He was supposed to include the caveat that Loser had promised to return the furniture. When I asked his paralegal if it had been done, she replied “he forgot.”
I decided to email Loser. I started it out with “I hate to bother you while you’re overseas.”
It was clear that he was annoyed that I knew where they were so he decided to be a dick. Like I cared. I don’t know how many different ways I could tell him that I didn’t give a shit what he and that WTC did or where they went.
Before I asked about the furniture, I told him about the note. He said “how do you keep getting this shit?”
I spelled it out this way…”while I was taking care of my end of our business, you know, dealing with the packers and movers…getting utilities turned off at the old house and getting them turned on at the new house (while you were probably at a bar with another woman) I discovered a marvelous thing. I can’t tell you what decade it was established or even what century but it’s called ‘mail forwarding.’ Even if somebody doesn’t know where you are, if they have access to where you were (via the file cabinet in the condo of the man you’re shacking up with) all they have to do is send a letter there and it will be forwarded.”
I was surprised that with his D*** degree, he didn’t know about that. With my lack of education, I must admit…it made me smile and feel a bit superior that I knew something he didn’t…but then again, he had never had to deal with mundane crap like that. His “business partner” took care of it.
After I spelled that out, I asked him if he intended to keep his word about returning the furniture. It was a stretch to hope that he would because he had rarely, if ever kept his word to me.
His response was almost audible. He said “of course. You decided that you wanted it so therefore, you shall have it.”
Needless to say, it pissed me the fuck off.
I immediately flashed back to the last time I saw him. He pitifully told me that he was “pre-diabetic.” I didn’t start wailing and jump up and put my arms around him while expressing concern, so I suffered his indignant scowling remarks.
I casually asked him if he talked to his WTC the same way he talked to me. He shrugged and said “probably” (which meant…”Hell no, I would never talk to her that way because I have too much respect for her” and “she would never stand for it anyway.”)
I fired back an email that was to put it mildly, SCATHING and INSULTING. I remain unapologetic.
I told him he could sell it, burn it or put it out on the curb for all I cared. He also had an antique sewing machine that I would like to have had back but I told him that he could destroy that as well and said “you do know how to destroy things, don’t you?”
I asked him if he really thought I wanted the furniture we had shared. I asked him what was wrong with him. I told him he could tell N**** why she wouldn’t be getting the furniture.
I reminded him of one of his last emails to me which said “I dragged myself into a ditch and took you with me.” I thought it was appropriate that I should tell him that he sure did and now I hoped he dragged himself straight to Hell and took HER with him.
I did reference his “shortcomings” when I said “aside from your money, you were inadequate in every conceivable aspect….including (I’ll let you fill in the blank.) I didn’t care if it offended his manhood.
I was sick of letting him think that he was the Don Juan, cock-of-the-walk he always thought he was (and probably still thinks he is.) I was sick of lying when people like my sister asked inappropriate questions about certain “body parts.” For most of our so-called marriage, I had no idea about certain “things” because I hadn’t been around the block like Loser and his WTCs.
Maybe he satisfies his WTC and the other women he’s “had.” Certain things can be overlooked I guess, if the raise is high enough, the promotion is prestigious enough, and the wallet is fat enough. Money can buy a lot of things and ease a lot of disappointment. It sure did for me.
He responded but I never opened the email. I emailed him back and told him I didn’t read it and I would never read another email from him.
I was looking at the name associated with my email address when I hit send and I immediately changed it. My name had been changed by “mommie dearest” so that it would match his. Losers’ parents and brothers had always called him J****y so a “y” had to be added to my name. I couldn’t spell two of my daughters’ names the way I wanted to because they had to end with a “y.” Everybodys’ name had to end with a fucking “Y” so they would match Losers’ name. Well….they were the children of “GOD.”
I spent my almost my entire life being married to a man who was constantly looking over my head for somebody who was holding a beer and would eagerly fuck a married man. I should have included that statement in the letter I sent to him. It was a good letter and spelled out in great detail what a monster he really is and left no doubt as to how I felt about him. I know he kept it. He read it a few times and then said he didn’t think he would read it again.
If I ever did send him another message, which I NEVER will, it would say…
Time passes. If you ever acquire the ability to think about anybody besides yourself and your WTC and should wonder if my feelings toward you have changed…
READ MY FUCKING LETTER.