I’m simultaneously repulsed and amused by the image I just saw on FB of my ex-husband (yes, our divorce was finalized). The picture is of him flipping off the camera with some ridiculously oversized skull ring on. Since leaving, I’m fairly sure he frequents Hot Topic more than he visits his girlfriend’s topless bar. Not only did I believe his angsty, flip-off-the-camera years had ended a few decades ago, he never used to dress like that. Correction: he might have when he was 16, but at least that’s not as painfully embarrassing as doing it when he’s a 40 year old man. Masters of the Universe called, Honey. They want their Castle Grayskull ring back.

He just flew in this week for his first visit with Little Man and Baby Girl, and to my great relief, he left today. Until now, he had only been in their presence for 2 weeks of the last 16 months, and of those 2 weeks, most of those days were spent ignoring them in favor of his damn iphone so he could secretly text his mistress. I watched him sit with the kids that he hadn’t seen in 5 months, eyes glued to that little 5 X 2 screen, wondering what could be more important or interesting than these little people that have been aching for his return. Guess we all know the answer to that one now.

At the end of those 2 weeks, I forced the truth out of him about her existence, and 20 hours later, he took his pre-packed bags, shook that pesky toddler off of his leg, and was gone. Hot cup of coffee on the counter, dirty clothes on the floor, gone. Moved out of state never to return. Just flat out blindsided, betrayed and left me. Left them. Dumped every burden of the logistics of moving and driving across country to me, in my destroyed state. And, as I like to put it, he quit something that should not be quittable when there’s brand new babies involved and no warning given. I mean, unless I was a horrible wife, a brutal communist dictator enslaving entire populations, or a super aggressive pageant mom. Hint: I was none of these.

Honey is…charming. He’s affable. Likable. If you met him, you’d think ‘Such a cool guy. I could totally see hanging out with him at a barbecue or something.’ For the purpose of this blog, I like to refer to all these faceless Honey followers as ‘The Masses’.

Yet here I am, pointing at him and yelling ‘Ahhh! Monster! Run, it’s a f***ing monster!’ while The Masses look around uncomfortably, avert their eyes, and shuffle their feet. Wait. Am I starting to look like the crazy one here? Yes. Yes, I probably am. Dammit…

So…I guess this makes me kind of like the one person that legitimately possesses proof of alien experimentation going on at Area 51. Pretty soon, everyone’s gonna be like ‘Hey, uh, wife. Yaaaah, I’m not trying to be ‘that guy’, but, um…you sure you’re not making all this up?’ At which point I, being of very sound mind, exclaim ‘Yes, I’m sure! I even have proof. Here, check this out.’ And I’ll produce the alien’s luggage, the license plate from their spacecraft, and some selfies I took of me giving a thumbs up next to them as they slept.

Still, no one’s gonna believe me. The Masses may imply that I faked the proof. Used photoshop. Manipulated the truth. And then, they’d think maybe I need a visual aid to understand just how crazy I sound.

The Masses: Here, Wife. Let’s look at some pictures together. When you talk about this great, awesome guy being a ‘sociopath’ and a ‘pathological liar’, are you sure it’s not just because you feel like the cat in this picture below after being dumped?

Wife: (clearing throat) Um, no. No, that’s not it at all. I swear to God, guys. I’m not crazy. And while I identify with this cat’s existential rage-spiral, no. No I’m not just a crazy, bitter ex. He truly is a monster.

The Masses: So, you don’t think that this next picture would be a good indicator of how you felt after he left, and that this might be…coloring…your perceptions just a little bit? I mean, there’s no shame in that, you know? Just let your crazy flag fly. It’s cool.

Wife: (exasperated) Look, no, damnit, I know how all this sounds. But it’s the truth. And no, I’m not cra…wait. Are those spools of Christmas ribbon?! What the…

Masses: Soooo…you really aren’t just, like, freakishly controlling and can’t handle being dumped? Because maybe you hadn’t considered that this might be how you’re coming off…

Wife: (sigh) You know what? Never mind. I’m just gonna go do some research for my blog by creeping HomeWrecker’s FB page. Wait. That makes me sound…crazy.

Damn.