You'll Never Guess What Happened on the Day My Ex Remarried
Seriously, I can hardly believe it myself.
On the day my ex husband got remarried to his young new wife, I had a guy at a bar steal and eat my dinner. I like to think of myself as a creative writer, but I could not make this up.
I know it's not very spiritual of me, but I do like to emphasize the remarrying part; I was the OW (original wife) before our divorce. I suppose that's typical First Wife bravado.
Finding out my ex was remarrying awoke some complicated feelings.
While a part of me wondered which beachfront hotel they'd chosen for their weekend wedding, another part of me spoke up and asked, "Would you really want to be married to the man he became?" Thankfully there was no hesitation in my unequivocal, "Hell, no!"
But I'd be lying if I didn't say how much I miss the family I'd known for so many years. Knowing they were all gathered nearby did have me in tears a few times. And even though I know how much he changed, I miss the good guy I married.
Friends who'd attended my wedding sent warning texts of impending Facebook posts and to let me know they were thinking of me. I entertained the idea comparing the two weddings starring the same leading man.
I like to think I married him before his ego grew and his heart shrunk. I swear I felt like he loved me when he said, "I do," but not knowing when the betrayal started and experiencing the cold disposition he developed, I'm not really sure he loved me at all.
Did I want to torture myself to know the details of what she wore, the vows they exchanged and if the food at their reception was better?
My wedding to Mr. Ex was at a quaint event center in the years long before we'd discovered oyster's on the half shell and fine California wines. Of course, those became the wines I sucked down to numb the pain of his harsh, disapproving words about how I just didn't measure up to his expectations.
My defense against those ex-centered thoughts was to have a nice time at a restaurant with friends.
I tried to keep my mind off those thoughts as I sat eating my Capellini Pomodoro at the restaurant bar while catching up with friends from out of town. A peripheral male acquaintance of the group sat a little too close to me and even boldly grabbed my glass of Pinot Noir to take a taste.
