Nikes with the big swoosh, short shorts, high socks, and a mullet. What a image.
It was worse than that; I was wearing a Lacoste "alligator" shirt to look cool when I ran through Wellesley, but it started to chafe my nipples (thus creating some very unsightly stains on my shirt)just as I was approaching the town; so I had to discard the shirt at about the half-way point which made the rest of the outfit you note stand out all the more...
I see your swoosh and mullet, and I raise you electric blue Jazzercise tights, a vividly striped black and white bodysuit, leg warmers, black ballet slippers and a terry cloth headband. On stage. At the county fair.
I blame Jane Fonda and Richard Simmons.
The trouble with having an open mind is that people put things in it.
My sitch - Divorce Busted! http://www.divorcebusting.com/forums/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=1804137#Post1804137
(At least I didn't have Flock of Seagulls hair, though, so I had that going for me. Which was nice.)
Smiley's Person has returned to Coastal City, having come in 23,993rd in the Big Midwestern City Marathon. I know that I kept serious pressure on Mr. W, who broke the course record, well into Mile, oh, One-Tenth or so, but I decided (because this is also How I Roll) to let the lad have his moment of glory -- after all, he's a Wee One at 22 -- and finish the thing just as I was reaching Mile 9. The children are the future, after all.
Was it cold! Colder'n'a'witch's-left-ta-ta, 'nah mean? But I ran, I ran so far away.
But I couldn't get away.
WAW Herself found it necessary to text me several times the night before -- ignored -- and several times after, and when I sent the kids a snapshot of Myself and Running Buddy in the High Rollers Tent with our medals and yummy sit-down food and dedicated sports massage peeps -- Running Buddy's firm is Major Contributor and so the few runners Chez Firm get to hang with the VIPs (I chatted with a past president of the Road Runners Club of America [and 2:30 marathoner] who, along with hubby, once ran a marathon a month for a year -- just because) -- WAW decided to comment on my appearance not once, not twice, but thrice in 3 separate emails.
You see, now that we both have Someones, we should be all pally-wally. This, I have been assured, is the "mature" course-of-action. The "grown-up" thing to do.
That I have repeatedly told WAW Herself that I am still rather brassed-off, chafed, miffed, nettled, peeved, steamed, and generally vexed -- not to mention angry -- about the way she wigged out and brought Tall Batsh*t Crazy for 2 days' worth of emails from European Capital, and then flipped the switch after the gates of sexual frustration were opened by Signore il Segondo and became Chatty Cathy and expected me to do the same, seems to matter not a whit to her.
Now, in what could not possibly have been a calculated move, she has sent an email asking "may she" borrow my nice carry-on suitcase for her trip to see SiS weekend after next? Okay -- first of all, the mother-may-I routine is incredibly insulting. She was never that polite before. Ever. Second -- uh, what the fark, over? Can't get own carry-on? And third -- why the need for Teh Reveal? It's my custody weekend -- why would I have any requirement to know Where's WAWldo?
Being a tale most excruciating, in which Our Narrator finds himself (viz., Mr. Wodehouse and Ms. Kettricken) far from gruntled, confounded most vexatiously by the seemingly random wanderings of mind and spirit that are latterly characteristic, behavioral-wise, of his nearly almost formerly Betrothed-One.
Which is to say, in other words, that even at this late stage in the game, these final few moves in the Saga of Smiley's Person, these last few posts in the outline of the Great American Divorce Book (for Men), Dr. SP himself remains systematically unable to make either head or tail of Walkaway Wife's Logic, which, despite 16 weeks "on our own," despite teary-eyed children wondering "what's wrong" with their parents, despite her confessional moments of loneliness, sorrow, regret (that SP made her divorce him, mind you), and the like, remains single-mindedly focused on Herself.
For she, Mrs. SP Herself, has now declared herself to be aggravated, indignant, livid, maddened, umbrageous, and all-around sore that SP remains angry at the most recent exhibition of Mrs. SP's mastery of Teh Batsh*t Crazitude.
This, she has declared, is unfair and unjust and unsporting and ungentlemanly, as she hasn't brought fresh, new, direct from the farm to your table, Batsh*t Crazy in well-nigh a fortnight. For which, she says, SP has given her not a whit of credit.
Apparently one is not only supposed to terminate the marriage on Walkaway's schedule, one is supposed to act and react as if on a railway timetable as well.
And, most importantly, to forget, upon Walkaway's demand, that which is declared forgettable (because the forgetting-of-which suits Walkaway's purposes at the time), including such various and sundry non-rememberable-worthy bits as
* Teh Batsh*t Crazy in general
* Signore (il Primero)
* lying, deceiving, attacking, slapping, spitting, bottles (throwing-of), I hate you'ing, I should have divorced your worthless a** 10 years ago'ing, and/or
* any other accounts, anamneses, anecdotes, impressions, memories, recollections, remembrances, or reminiscences such that the abilities, competencies, and/or skills of WAW might be called into question, such as and especially the not-unrecent incident in which WAW requested that Dr. SP inspect a light fixture in her new residence, for which she was imminently to consult, at considerable drain to the pocketbook, Local Master Electrician, whose butt-cleavage-free trouserage and Bercedes-Menz electrician's van gives one a visual appreciation of his expertise (or his rate card, depending upon one's level of cynicism).
Smiley's Person was requested, in the spirit of Friendiness and Mutual Cooperation, to provide a diagnosis of The Problem for WAW, with which, thus armed, she might negotiate a better price with Local Master Electrician.
What you must know is that SP is not widely regarded by Ye Public for his expertise with Things Electrical; such gadgets, it is his understanding, generally function as per the formula on page 1,031 of volume 14 of the Kinsley manual, to wit:
However, in the Spirit, he brought his masterful diagnostic skills to bear on what was certain to be a complex (and expensive-to-repair) electrical problem. WAW had, after all, been suffering with it for 2 months -- clearly something was amiss Chez Walkaway.
Upon inspection of the recalcitrant electrical fixture, SP determined, through careful analysis and troubleshooting, that what was certain to be required was....
...a new light bulb.
Security Council Resolution in hand, WAW declares this incident to be done with, over, vorbei -- in short, never again to be recalled, along with any and all other incidents in which WAW might conceivably not appear at her best.
Anything less would be inequitable and might -- might, mind you -- lead her to conclude that SP is not WAWorthy. (This, one can be forgiven for suggesting, would rather appear to have been a conclusion she reached a nine-month ago, and yet....)
And what, you might ask, would be the payoff of WAWorthiness? Of finding WAWldo?
Ah, dear readers, that is the Sweetest Thing of All. That which is Dreamed-Of. That which is Hoped-For, Most Earnestly, by the MWD aficionado.
You are playing on her agenda, reacting to her. Are you her best friend, who she turns to to share her love life woes and successes????
Me thinks the Smile Guy is Batshit Masochistic. As long as you accept, welcome, reply to her responses this is your tilt-a-whirl. Live your separate lives. Your business is YOUR business. Your stuff is YOUR stuff. Sheesh, fella.
She has something significant to learn on this journey. And so do you. As long as you mollycoddle, throw fits about how she cares for her children, allow her to invade your personal life you are completely enmeshed.
Drop the rope. Break the cycle. Stop fixing. Quit leaping for ways to passively control her. It's time for BOTH of you to learn what life is like with and without each other. And then you decide what the gold ticket really means.
Congratulations on finishing the race and having a great time!
She's confused, and angry, and bitter, and trying to get your attention. Just ignore the sideshow and focus on your own game.
"My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand." Thich Nhat Hanh
