Trash-Talking Your Ex

, , , , , | | Related | May 23, 2018

My parents recently divorced and my mom moved out as a consequence. Both of my parents were pretty down about it and relatively hostile towards each other, which put a lot of strain on me and my siblings.

One day my mom was visiting us children, eating a small snack with us at the table, while my dad was sitting on the sofa a few metres away. I went to the calendar hung on the wall to check for an appointment and realised that my dad had reassigned the row showing my mom’s appointments to instead show when each kind of trash was emptied by the city; however, the top row with her name was written in non-erasable pen.

That seemed like such a typical thing that a divorced couple would do out of spite that I broke down laughing hard, because my dad absolutely didn’t intend it to be malicious; he put it there simply because my mom used to take care of the trash and there was space. Of course my mom came to look at what was so funny and broke down laughing, too.

When my dad walked over, too, she joked about how insulted she was about being used as a trash reminder and he joked back that she deserved it. Consequently, my whole family spent a quarter hour laughing and wheezing on the floor. I think that moment saved our relationship as a family; that day was the first time they had talked with each other in person, not over text or asking us to relay messages. In the following days and weeks they started handling each other with a lot less tension and apologized for putting us between them. I’m very glad for that silly little coincidence.

Divorce On Course

, , , | Romantic | May 12, 2018

(My best friend has finally made the decision to leave her husband. She has been wanting to for about a year, but kept trying to make it work, which has failed. She records the actual break-up conversation and shows it to me. And I just have to share.)

Husband: *enters kitchen*

Wife: “Hey, [Husband], would you please come sit at the table with me for a moment? We need to talk.”

Husband: “Okaaaay.”

(He sits down slowly, obviously confused by her tone.)

Wife: “We’ve been married nearly three years now.”

Husband: “Yes, best three years of my life, Honey Bunny.”

Wife: “Uh-huh… See, that’s where we differ.”

Husband: “What are you talking about?”

Wife: “On our wedding day, I promised to love and respect you. And you also made that promise to me.”

Husband: “Yeah, that’s how wedding vows work.”

Wife: “Uh-huh. But I’m the only one that kept that promise.”

Husband: *jumping from his chair* “What the hell are y—”

Wife: “I’m still speaking.” *she gives him a scary “shut up” look and he sits back in his chair* “After we were married, you begged me to quit my job. It was an amazing job, that I loved, that I was good at, and that was about to give me an amazing promotion. I quit it, for you. Then, we had to sell my vehicle, because without my job, we couldn’t afford repairs. Then I got pregnant. And when I was six months pregnant, we just had to move. Because the state we had to move to is the only state that had the specific health facilities you needed. So, I gave birth with a doctor I barely knew, surrounded by strangers. Except for you, obviously. But then you went home, and I was alone and exhausted taking care of a newborn at the hospital for three days. Visits from you were quick and brief. I didn’t even have a cell phone of my own, so I had no one to talk to. And then you decided that we just had to move again, twelve hours away, four days after I had just given birth. Our daughter is now a year and a half old, and you have changed a total of two diapers, and made maybe five bottles, and never without complaint. For the last two years, I don’t think I’ve had a single orgasm. I’ve even told you, begged you, to put more effort into our love life. Instead, you tell me to ‘take care of it myself’ while you use me as a personal human masturbator. You always achieve release and receive many oral favors, never giving anything in return. I feel like a blow-up doll. Since our daughter was born, you constantly talk down on me like I’m stupid, despite the fact that you’re usually wrong. I’ve pointed this out many times. You act as if you own me. I’m not allowed to wear certain clothes, get an actual job, or even see my family that moved across the country to live in the same town as us. I could probably go on, but I’ve made my point. I don’t like you, and I want a divorce. You can still be a father; I’d prefer it if you would. I’m not going to punish a child because our marriage didn’t work. Any questions?”

Husband: *has been silently crying and staring down at the table* “We could try couples counseling.”

Wife: “I thought of that, too. But, you know what? I’ve pointed out most of these issues a million times. A couple of them put me into a rage-filled depression. That’s a weird emotion to have. Even if counseling did help, why would I stay with someone that has to be told, by someone other than me, the exact same things I already told him? You’re not a child I’m going to go tattle on every time you do something I already told you not to do. This is an emotionally controlling marriage, and I’m tired of it. I will not have my daughter see this marriage as her example of what to expect. I’d have her live to be an old spinster, alone, if it meant she could avoid wasting years on misery like this.”

Husband: “You’re going to regret leaving me.”

Wife: “Hmm. No, I’m not. There’s another thing I forgot to mention. My sister has a lot of friends; she’s very popular, you know. Well, one of her many friends sent her this.”

(She pulls up a picture on her phone. It’s a screenshot of a message conversation with his cell number, with pictures of him. ALL of him. He just stares blankly at the phone.)

Wife: “So… I’ve been planning on leaving for a while. This just kind of makes it all the more easier. This is how it’s going to work: I had to quit my job and stay home with our child, so I have no money. You make pretty good money and made it your mission to not let me have a penny. You’re going to pay alimony only long enough for me to get a job and a place. Once that’s done, no more alimony. But then, you’ll pay child support. Nothing extravagant, just enough to help a little. And if you want to be a father, just let me know. We can set up a schedule to share. But I have to know of every person you bring around our child. If you bring in a ‘Buddy’ or girlfriend before introducing them to me, you won’t see your daughter. Don’t worry; you won’t have to pay support if you don’t see her. That seems a bit cruel to me.”

Husband: “I don’t have the money to support you.”

Wife: “There it is again: you thinking I’m stupid. You get a specific set amount of money every month, and all the bills combined don’t even use up a quarter of it. That’s why you spend insane amounts of money on things you’ll never use again. I do the taxes, budgeting, and bills, dumba**. Everything is well-documented. You try to hide away anything, I’ll know, and I’ll report it. I’m not demanding the house, and I’m not demanding extreme amounts of money. I’m demanding the bare minimum of what I’m due after wasting three years on you.”

(I was already headed over to pick up her and her daughter. They didn’t have that many belongings, since he didn’t like to spend money on them, so it was quick to load up and go. Don’t make promises you can’t or won’t keep, people. Respect your life partner.)

Make It An Ex-Pun

, , , , , | Romantic | March 7, 2018

(I’m currently going through a divorce, and my wife is now wanting to take the dog. I tell my friends about this development.)

Me: “[Ex-Wife] is talking about stealing [the dog]. Goody.”

Best Friend: “That’s rough.”

Me: “Is that a pun?”

Best Friend: “Not intentionally, but it works, so I’ll claim it.”

A Hot Slice Of Kindness, Part 4

, , , , , , , | Hopeless | February 16, 2018

(I recently divorced my abusive, controlling husband. I have been awarded custody of our two kids, and he was ordered to pay child support. My ex-husband left us with nothing, has never paid any of the alimony or child support that the court ordered him to, and has constantly done whatever he can to make life difficult for us. Ordering food deliveries has been his latest weapon of choice. One evening I’m standing in the kitchen, looking over the little food I’ve been able to buy, wondering how I’m going to feed both of my children and myself, when there’s a knock at the door. I groan, as I know it’s yet another food delivery that my ex-husband has ordered, and that I’m going to have to explain a painful and embarrassing situation to yet another person. I open the door, and sure enough, there’s a man from a local pizza company here with a large amount of pizzas, enough to feed an entire sports team. I barely manage to return his greeting before I start crying.)

Delivery Man: “Hi, I’ve got an order for… Ma’am? Is something wrong?”

Me: *between sobs* “I… I’m so sorry. You were pranked. My ex-husband ordered all this, trying to hurt me by making me spend money I don’t have. I’m so sorry, but I didn’t order this, I can’t pay for it, and you’ve had your time wasted.”

(At this point, my children start quietly asking me:)

Children: “Mummy, are we having pizza tonight? Can we keep it? Please?”

(Their pleas cut me to the quick, and I start sobbing, unable to control myself any longer.)

Delivery Man: “Your ex did this? To what end? To hurt you? To upset those adorable munchkins that are trying to hide behind the wall over there?”

Me: *sobbing harder* “Yes.”

(The delivery man looks incredibly angry.)

Delivery Man: “Ma’am, all of this is on me. There is no circumstance where I’ll stand by and allow someone to cause so much hurt to a mother and her children. Keep all of this. Whatever you can’t eat, freeze. If you reheat it in the oven, it’ll be as good as fresh. Whenever you run out, call the store and ask for me by name. I’ll bring you enough food to keep you and your kids fed as long as you need.”

(At this point, I am crying so hard that I can barely respond to him. His kindness has completely overwhelmed me, and my children are smiling for the first time in weeks. I try to offer him money, and he brushes my attempt away.)

Delivery Man: “Ma’am, I cannot take anything from you. Your ex tried to use me to hurt you; I’m not going to be used in such a manner. I’ve had my own share of experiences similar to yours, and turning an act of hate into an act of empathy is enough for me. You keep taking care of your kids, and call my store whenever you need.”

(With that, he carried everything into my kitchen, ruffled my childrens’ hair, flashed me a cheerful grin, and wished us all a good night. While I never took him up on his offer to deliver us food whenever we needed it, I will never forget the impact he had on my children and me in the darkest time of our lives. His generosity and kindness not only gave my children a full belly but renewed my faith in the kindness of people. I doubt he’ll ever read this, but if he does, I want to say thank you. He brightened all our lives.)

 

Related:
A Hot Slice Of Kindness, Part 3
A Hot Slice Of Kindness, Part 2
A Hot Slice Of Kindness

1 Thumbs
1,070
VOTES

Always Room For A Gift

, , , , , , | Related | February 9, 2018

(I am about 13. My parents are on the brink of divorce. My mum refuses to sleep in her room with my dad anymore; instead, she sleeps in my bed, with me. I am weirded out by this, but she’s being unusually sweet and affectionate with me, reading with me, and so on, so I let it go. One day we have a fight — over something I can’t remember, now — and I tell her I don’t want to sleep with her anymore. How strange does that sound?)

Me: “Just leave me alone, Mum!”

(She continues arguing, but I cut her off again.)

Me: “Get. Out! This is my room. Get out of my room!”

Mum: *blows up* “Your room? What do you mean, your room?”

Me: “This is my room! You have your room; I have mine! Get out of my room!”

Mum: “This is my house! All the rooms in this house belong to me! How dare you claim this as your room?!

(My dad has not interfered in this argument up until this point, but he’s finally had enough. He walks up to my room and pokes his head in the door.)

Dad: “[Mum], this is actually my house. I paid for it, and the title of the house is in my name, so it’s my house. [My Name], I hereby gift you this room. It is now your room.” *walks off*

(I was grinning from ear to ear. It was a glorious victory for me, although my mum immediately and inevitably turned her wrath on my dad. They ultimately divorced the next year.)

Page 1/212
Next »