(It is a few weeks after my high school’s latest musical.)
Brother: *out of nowhere* “Oh, yeah, you weren’t at the Friday show.”
Me: “Friday show of what?”
Brother: “[School Musical].”
Me: “I was in it!”
Brother: “Oh, yeah.”
Me: “How the hell did you forget about that?”
(My brother is staying with me until he finds a place of his own. I didn’t want to let him, but my parents wouldn’t get off my back. He’s messy and immature. I’m younger than he is.)
Me: “Hey, [Brother], have you seen my laptop? “
Brother: “Yeah, but its broken.”
Me: “How? I’ve only had it for like a month. “
Brother: “I spilled soda on it. “
Me: “I had my class projects on it! “
Brother: “Relax. Don’t you have some sort of backup? “
Me: “Yes, but that doesn’t excuse you ruining a birthday present. You owe me a new one. “
Brother: “I think [Girlfriend] has one she can give you. “
Me: “I am not accepting anything from that pot-smoking bimbo!”
Brother: “She’s not a bimbo! “
Me: “Her tattoo says otherwise.”
Brother: “Can’t you flirt with one of your smarta** classmates to get it fixed?”
Me: “You’re an idiot.”
(I kicked him out a week later after he, his girlfriend, and their entourage destroyed the living room by having a party, almost set fire to the kitchen, and did drugs in my apartment while I was at school. I always bring up that story when Mom and Dad ask me to help him.)
(My little sister moves in with me so she can attend a physician’s assistant program. During a warm day in October, we are chatting in the kitchen.)
Sister: “I think I should have the upper extremities covered today.”
Me: “You should be fine with that tank top. It’s going up to 75 degrees.”
Sister: “I was talking about studying for my exam.”
Me: “I was talking about the weather and how you are dressed.”
(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.)
(My dad and I are staying with a friend of his, whose daughter recently had a baby. We are all sitting in the kitchen, while she bounces her son on her lap. At one point she moves a bit farther to the left than she meant to, and SLAMS her elbow onto the edge of the table. She freezes, her eyes bug out, and her jaw drops.)
Me: “Why don’t I hold onto him for a minute?”
(She wordlessly handed me her baby, eyes watering, then doubled over, clutching her elbow.)
