Sorry, Not Sorry

Dear Ex-Wife Number Two,

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I think of you the night you called and spat my name at me a dozen times in less than a minute. I’ll take the opportunity now.

I think your intellect is perhaps surpassed by your sexuality, but it’s a hair's-breadth contest. I couldn’t believe my eyes when you showed up at my house with your ex-husband, when you first started seeing him (and I know you went home with him the night you met him—he left you in his bed alone to spend time with me when I came by the next morning), turning his visitation with his daughter into a date with you. Six Flags, if I recall.

Coincidentally, I love watching that video of you and your ex-husband at the fair that same autumn. You were on the ferris wheel, terrified, and your true colors came out: if you don’t get what you want, you will cause damage. Threatened to “take that goddamn phone and throw it” if I recall. The more recent video of you singing with your brother’s band also entertains me. I find it more pleasing with the sound muted.

And your Disney princess wedding. I still roll my eyes when I picture that train being dragged down the aisle by a forty-year-old posing as an ingenue. And no “speak now,” . . . duuuude, talk about insecure.

“Just tell me it was only the one time!” Shame on you for wanting that to be true, much less for taking things out of context and painting me as a whore to my daughter. Truly, you’re just about as charming as an ICE agent in Minneapolis.

Your dog mommy Mother’s Day posts? 🤢

Think long and hard about how much you interfered with your ex-husband’s relationship with his daughter and how much you’ve damaged her and her son, my grandson. Then think about the roses with a bad rhyme (did you call it a poem?) that you received at work on Valentine’s Day—did you take them home with you? I hope you enjoyed the last valentine you’re ever likely to receive.

Did you know she’s drinking again? My daughter, your ex-stepdaughter, remember? Did you pour one for her at Christmas, when she spent a night under your roof for the first time? Are you going to invite her along on your girls’ trips, or is your own presence enough of a strain on hospitality?

Are you aware that I know that your husband chose to divorce you rather than speak the vile lies you wanted to witness him telling me? Since he wouldn’t say it, you said it to our daughter, while she was struggling with her recovery. The clinical term for what you did is no-contact sexual abuse. How does that align with your holier-than-thou persona?

Do you remember what brought your husband and me back together? Saving our daughter’s life? Remember how you didn’t show up to rehab graduation, even though you were invited? Was it your health? I understand that’s also why you didn’t attend our grandson’s birthday party at the zoo last year as well as the reason it’s been years since you had marital relations with your ex-husband. I understand that you’re offended by vulgar language, but perhaps you simply don’t understand sexuality; that’s common among those with pedestrian values. I’m sorry that you wasted so much manhood for so many years. See, I’m adhering to your Danielle Steele aesthetics.

All I did was give your ex-husband the love he needed. After we fell back in love with each other, I asked him how often he had sex, and he said it had been years, so it’s not like I was taking anything away from you. By the way, he and I are still the best of friends. I understand he’ll only speak to you through your attorney.

Also, it’s periodontist—the i is not silent. Further, Henry Clay was the Speaker of the House when the Missouri Compromise and the Great Compromise were signed, and that’s why your ex-husband will always be my Mizzou. The Kansas-Nebraska Act ended those compromises, pierced them, as it were (funny if you know American history, which I doubt you do, since you were asking about these things while your marriage fell apart, and oh, how I laughed when he told me). That was our code for ending the affair, cutting contact. I called it the week before you went email spelunking.

I’m sorry you found out after the fact. I’m sorry you thought you could erase me, I’m sorry that you chose to make me your enemy instead of your friend, and I’m sorry that you’ve never made peace with yourself. I’m sorrier still that you’ve always been so obsessed with what you don’t have that you never appreciated what you had. Perhaps you should have clicked your heels three times.

Say hi to your brother for me when he comes over to mow your lawn.

Contemptuously not yours,

The Love of Your Ex-Husband’s Life

P.S. I hope that fabulous picture of me in that beautiful transparent azure bra is the cover photo in your mental album of me. Sorry you weren’t blessed with a rack like mine.