Caught In A Trap...Can't Walk Out

OK. Lets get back to the events of my investigative journey of 2008. First, as you know, was the hotel receipt that I found in July. Previously to that I had done some poking around his cell phone call history, but there was really nothing definitive until that infamous receipt. Right after the receipt was when I purchased the GPS tracking device so I would know his whereabouts whenever he went out. But I haven’t mentioned just how much of a role his cell phone really played in my mounting pile of evidence. It was gi-freakin’-normous. One time when I had called Dick and as usual he didn’t answer, I thought, ‘I wonder if I can access his voice mail remotely?’ Guess what….I could! Because I had set up his voicemail when he first got a cell phone, I knew his password. It was the same as mine. Obviously he never thought to change it. So, occasionally I would hack into it and check his messages. Aside from the many rants that I had left him about not answering his phone when I called, there was nothing of any use to me…until one day. But first I need to set the scene for you.

Every year Dick, Harry and “the guys” would go the Saratoga NY for the races. Every year Dick went with one of those guys because we only had one car and that would leave me for almost a week without transportation. This particular year Dick insisted that he needed to take our car. Red Flag!! His reason was that there were four of them going, each with luggage and golf clubs. So, they needed at least two cars to hold everything. It made sense, but I just knew he was lying. With four of them going, why did he have to drive? The most annoying thing was that he waited until the night before he was leaving to tell me by saying, “It’s not going to be a problem if I take the car…is it?” HELL YES, IT’S A PROBLEM!! I thought to myself. The rest of the conversation went something like this:
Betty: Why did you wait until the last minute to mention this?
Dick: I don’t know….sorry.
Betty: And, what would make you think it would be okay for you to leave me car-less for week?
Dick: I don’t know. Forget it, I’ll just rent a car if you’re gonna make a big issue about it.
Betty: I’m not making an issue out of it, I just don’t understand why one of the other guys can’t drive?
Dick: Well…Skip’s wife won’t let him (smart woman, I thought) and Harry isn’t coming back here. He is going to New York City straight from Saratoga, so we need the extra car to get the all the golf clubs back here.
Betty: So your saying you actually need three cars.
Dick: I don’t know, I guess so.
Betty: Well this really sucks.
Dick: Sorry.
Betty: Fine, I guess I can borrow my mother’s car for the week.
Dick: Sorry.
Betty: But I am not happy…
Dick: Sorry.
Betty: …I hate driving that car.
Dick: I’m sorry.
Betty: Will you please stop saying that!!!
Dick: What?
Betty: SORRY!! Can’t you think of anything else to ever say?
Dick: I don’t know…what do you want me to say.
Betty: Nothing, forget it. Take the car. Have a nice trip.

I had a gut feeling that there was more to it than the guys just needing the extra car for golf clubs. He told me that he was coming home on Friday, but I figured that he just wanted to have his own car so he could leave Saratoga earlier than he told me, to be with “her”. When Dick left that morning he told me that he was meeting up with Skip and Dom at Harry’s house. From there they would form their little caravan with Dom, Dick and Harry each driving to Saratoga. Since I didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth, I drove over to Harry’s place later in the day. Sure enough, there in the driveway was Dom’s car. Interesting, yes? But wait…there’s more. When they arrived in Saratoga Dick called me. I asked him how the ride out was. He said it was okay, but pretty boring with no one to talk to most of the way. “Why?” I asked assuming he would say because he was alone, but he fell right into my trap. “Because slughead Dom slept practically the whole way here.” “Oh” I said. Then to help him dig his whole a little deeper I added “So Skip went with Harry and you got stuck with Dom?” His reply, “Yea, lucky me!” AH, HA!!!…Caught ya! …I knew it….ran through my head, but I only said….”Oh, really. So, you only took two cars?” “Ya, why?” he said with a tinge of attitude which I threw right back at him with “’Cause you said you needed to have three…didn’t you?” Now with full on attitude he said “Well, if you must know, Jim is coming up on Wednesday with his van so we didn’t need three cars.” “Hmmm…Okay” I said “Then you didn’t need to take the car after all.” That comment from me really got his defenses up. “What do you mean by that? What are you trying to say?” “I’m not trying to say anything. I’m just repeating what you told me last night when we were arguing about this. You said that Dom was taking his car, and now you tell me Jim is showing up too. Obviously you never needed to take our car! That is what I’m saying!” I didn’t think he could weasel his way out of this one, but…he did. He told me nobody knew until he got to Harry’s that Jim was in fact going to be there at some point. That being the case Dom decided not to drive because he really needed new tires. Man, he’s pretty good at this lying thing. If I wasn’t so dam annoyed I would have almost been impress by his quick thinking.


So, what does all of this have to do with cell phone voicemail? Well, I'll tell you. On Thursday of the week Dick was away I called him. As usual he didn't answer, so, I went straight to his voice mail. "You have 2 saved messages in your mail box" the recorded lady said in my ear. Two? Last night there was only one! The lady continued, "To listen to your messages press 1." I pressed 1, and this is what I heard: "Hi baby...I'm just drivin' home from work and thought I'd call to say hi and tell you I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Miss you. Bye." That son of a bitch...I was right. I felt both disappointed and vindicated at the same time. On one hand I hated being right, but on the other I was so dam proud of myself for figuring out what the little bastard was doing. The message came in on Wednesday night so he was returning on Thursday, not Friday. I got definite confirmation of this when I was able to view the cell phone bill online. All the calls that week were from Upstate NY, until Thursday around noontime. There was one call from somewhere out on the Mass. Pike. The rest of the calls for Thursday and Friday were made from the next town over from us...her town. I sat there and cried, not for very long, just enough to purge myself of all the feelings that had hit me. I think that was the day that I started to feel nothing for him, which was why I was able to pull off my charade of welcoming him home on Friday as if nothing had changed.

The Ghost Of Christmas Past

I'll have a true Christmas without you
I won't be blue or thinkin' about you
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree
Will shine so bright, 'cause you're not here with me

I'll have a true Christmas that's certain
I'm feelin' fine, and my heart ain't hurtin'
I'll be doin' all right, with my Christmas of white
Hopin' you have a blue, blue Christmas.

Ah yes, Christmas time is here. The most wonderful time of the year...not! I shouldn't say that. I really love Christmas, always did. I loved everything about it...the shopping, baking, decorating, wrapping, all of it...until I married Dick. I still loved the ideal of the season and all that goes with it, but with him, everything that I loved to do for Christmas became a chore. Just getting the tree up and decorated more often then not required some form of begging, bribing or threatening. Everything was stored in the attic...the tree, outside decorations, wrapping paper, all of it. It was a two person job getting it all down so I was always at his mercy. When we were dating, Christmas was wonderful. He would shower me with gifts. "Too much" I would say. "Never enough" he would respond. Then we would passionately kiss and happiness would just ooze out of us, as little white doves took flight. Yea...that last part never actually happened. My point is that before marriage he would shop for me and his family and did a fine job of it. But for some reason, as soon as that ring went on his finger he became completely incapable of entering a store...unless of course he needed to shop for himself. It was all left up to me. All of it...even my own presents. I know...don't ya just want to slap him? I would get all the gift shopping done and plan on baking, cooking, cleaning, etc., the week of Christmas. I would have my whole week planned out and he would want me to go Christmas shopping with him. "I don't know what to get you." He'd whine. The first time he did this I told him I just didn't have time and that it didn't matter because I would love anything he got me. You know, its the thought that counts kind of thing. Big mistake. That platitude only works when you actually put some thought into what you are buying. I swear he went to Sears and just grabbed whatever. I got a sweater that I wouldn't be buried in, that is if I could even fit into it...a housecoat, not a nice snugly bathrobe, a "just like my mom wears" housecoat and slippers...I have never worn slippers. Then there was the flashlight to go with the "roadside assistance kit", a cordless phone, and a lovely napkin holder with matching salt and pepper shakers. As I opened each hideous gift, I played the part of someone who would have actually thought these things were appropriate gifts for a husband to give a wife. "Oh"...gulp..."Thanks, how nice." I would say while thinking, where the hell is the jewelry, and where can I return this? I swear there must have been a store called "God-awful Gifts" that catered to the likes of Dick. He would always tell me if I didn't like something, I could return it. Of course, if I ever did that, he would be very offended. The next year I guess he thought he would make it easier on himself and just get one big gift. Because we had been out looking at cars a few times but never got one, I thought I was getting a new car for Christmas. Silly me. I had no idea who I married to back then. What I did get was...a new stove and a stocking full of the same crap I got every year. The stove was a nice one, but really, a stove, for Christmas? Needless to say, after that I started making time to go with him to pick out my own gifts. I did insist that he at least wrap them though. I know, pretty lame, opening gifts that you picked out yourself. But the alternative was just to horrifying to chance. On the flip side of that was what I bought for him. I would rack my brain trying to come up with just the right stuff and be so excited to see him open his gifts. But, he would just let them sit there under the tree and maybe open them or maybe not until the next day. One year I bought him some black jeans. He loved jeans, lived in them. This way, I thought, he can still wear jeans and be comfortable, when blue jeans aren't quite the appropriate attire. Brilliant idea, I thought. When he opened the box and saw the black jeans he just stared at them for a bit and said "Oh, black jeans...hmm...guess I can put them in the drawer with the other pair you bought me last year." Who wants to slap him now? Anyone? Step up and take a number..."The slap Dick line forms here!!!" I told him that I didn't remember buying him black jeans last year or remember him wearing them. "That's because I didn't. They still have the tags on them." he said. "Why didn't you wear them?" I asked. "I guess that would be because I don't like black jeans." he said with the attitude that clearly meant he thought I was stupid. So, Christmas usually turned out to be one disappointment after another. But that is all behind me now. This year, Christmas is what it should be, because I gave myself the best gift of all ten months ago...freedom.

Looking Out For Number ONE

I am not sure if I mentioned this already, but before Dick and I were married my father gave me a wonderful piece of advice. We were talking about marriage and I said something to the effect of marriage being a 50/50 proposition and Dad corrected me. He told me that was where most people make the first mistake. It is not 50/50, it's 100% both ways. If you both don't give 100% for the other, it won't work. I thought about it and realized he was right. I took it to heart and tried to follow the 100% rule. As you have probably guessed, Dick did not. He was absent the day they handed out the marriage rule book. There is however a problem if only one of the people in the marriage is following this rule. If they are thinking only of the other's needs and the other person is thinking only of his own, then everything becomes about that one person and the other one gets left on the side of the road somewhere. That’s basically what happened to us. Very rarely during our marriage was anything done because it was good for me. Inadvertently it may have been good for me, but the only person he ever considered was himself, as in how something would affect him. Dick is and always has been self-centered, self-serving, and basically selfish. Every decision he ever made was based on his needs or desires...never 'ours'. My big mistake was wanting to please him and make sure he was happy. This of course came back to bite me in the ass, because it came at the expense of my own needs and desires. I‘ll give you an example. Dick likes to take a banana in his lunch. If I wanted to have a banana and there was only one left in the fruit bowl, I would not eat it. It wouldn’t matter how much I r-e-a-l-l-y wanted that banana, I would not think of touching it. I would eat something else or nothing, but never the last banana, just in case Dick might want it. I would feel really bad if I ate it and then he went looking for it and it was gone. Often Dick never wanted the last banana but that banana could sit there until it began to rot, because I was not going to eat it. I just couldn’t take the chance because he might want it for his lunch. We through out a lot of bananas over the last 25 years! There were other situations that when I think about them now I can’t believe I let him get away with. Our mattress, for instance…big bone of contention…I mean huge. It was firm, very firm. Truthfully it was like trying to sleep on a slab of slate. The carpeting in our bedroom had more cushioning. In the beginning it didn’t bother me because I mostly slept on my stomach, and I was a lot younger then with many less aches and pains. I was also much thinner and that made a difference in the comfort levels at the pressure points. After I had breast cancer sleeping on my stomach was difficult because of having had a mastectomy. I tried my side, but the dam mattress was so hard my hip would ache after a half hour or so. My arm would fall dead asleep because the circulation would get cut off to it. Nothing like waking up in the middle of the night wondering what the hell that lump is under your pillow, only to realize its your own arm that is completely numb. Anyway…after a while I started leaving the bed and going out to the couch. I would give myself an hour and if I was still tossing and turning…see ya! I made sure I waited until he was asleep so as not to make him feel bad that I was leaving. It got to the point that I rarely made it to bed. I would fall asleep in the recliner and just stay there. Then Dick started to complain that I wasn’t sleeping in the bed anymore. I felt bad about this, because it wasn’t right that we slept apart, but I told him…for the hundredth time, that the mattress was too dam hard. If by some miracle I did fall asleep in there I would wake up in the morning with in such pain I would feel like crap all day. I needed to sleep and the only way that was going to happen in that bed is if we got a new mattress. Guess what he said? “But I like that mattress.” “Well then,” I said “I hope you two will be very happy together, because I can’t sleep on it.” Besides the fact that he liked the mattress made of rock, he was also very concerned that he would not be comfortable on a soft mattress Me, me, me…I, I, I…its all about Dick. What’s best for Dick? Is Dick happy? God forbid Dick should not get a good night sleep. We wouldn’t want Dick to be uncomfortable, now would we! The truth is though…Dick could sleep on anything, anywhere, anytime. If we had a dog house he could sleep on the peak of its roof like Snoopy and be perfectly comfortable. Finally I got to the real reason he didn’t want a new mattress. He said, and I quote, “A new mattress is expensive. What if we buy one and you can’t sleep on that one either? Might as well just flush that money right down the toilet.” Money…it was always about money. What an ass. He is still sleeping on the same mattress and I have a very comfy air-bed. I have slept better in the past 10 months than I did over the last 24 years. So that as they say is that.

These Boots Are Made For Walking

When I tell someone new about my blog they are sometimes a bit confused about the title. So, I thought I would take a moment to explain. There was a book/made for TV movie a few years ago called "I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy". I didn't read it or see the movie, but I liked the title. Having had a mastectomy myself, and a hysterectomy, from which I was recovering when the infidelity shit hit the fan in my marriage, I have always referred to getting a divorce as having a "spouse-ectomy". Nancy Sinatra's 1966 hit "These Boots Are Made For Walking", which tells of a woman scorned who is putting on her boots, walking away from, and right over the guy who cheated on her has always been a favorite "oldie" of mine. I bought myself a pair of cowboy boots one summer. They are black brushed leather, and whenever I wore them I always felt...taller...stronger...like I meant business when I walked. Unfortunately I left them at my "marital home" when I vacated the premises last winter. Who knew I would be locked out of my house, unable to gain access to my belongings. Had I known, I definitely would have brought them along. My beloved boots are top on my list when I get to go on my first rescue mission back at the ranch. But all that is another story for another day. So, here for your listening pleasure is Nancy Sinatra in 1966 singing my song....Take it away Nancy...

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time in a land far, far away there lived a lonely princess. Everyday she would stare out her window, wishing, hoping and wondering when her prince would ride up to her castle and carry her off into the sunset. One day her wish came true…or so she thought. A handsome prince arrived to sweep her off her feet. He promised her a life full of love and everything her heart desired. “Marry me, my love, and everything I have shall be yours” he said. Blinded by what she thought was love, she said yes. Their wedding day came and they were married in front of all their family and friends. When it came time to “kiss the bride” her heart leapt with anticipation…”I’m married” she thought dreamily…they kissed… ”to the most wonderful…FROG?” The moment their lips touched in holy matrimony her handsome prince turned into a frog, a little green, ugly frog. “This is all wrong!” she cried. “Princes aren’t supposed to turn into frogs! it’s the other way around! Why did this happen?” The truth is, nothing happened. Her prince had always been a frog, she just couldn’t see it. She never saw him for what he really was. In her eyes he was everything she wanted and needed him to be. She hadn’t been blinded by love, it was desire that had altered her perception. She so wanted all her dreams to come true that she was only able to see what she wanted to see. The reality was she had married a frog and now she was stuck with him. Being as good hearted as she was she decided to give the marriage a shot. After all, he couldn’t help being a frog, it was just who he was. There must have been something about him that made her see him as a prince. Perhaps if she didn’t look so closely at him he would appear more prince-like and less…frog-ish. This worked for a while, but in the end she realized, he is what he is and there was nothing she could do to change that. It took a long time for the princess to do something about her situation. It was hard for her to do what needed to be done because she didn’t want to be alone again. But, because of her husband the frog, she didn’t get to do all the things she used to love to do. His promise of “everything I have shall be yours” turned out to be nothing more than a lie. Her friends and family never really felt comfortable around him because they knew from the start that he was a frog and could never understand why the princess married him. Then one day she realized that she felt more lonely now with her frog, than she did when she was alone. Being alone wasn’t a bad thing to be, being lonely was worse than anything. She no longer could ignore that fact that he was and always would be a slimy, little frog. She knew she didn’t love him and wondered if she ever really did. This was no way for a princess to live. She needed to be free, to go out into the world and find her heart’s desire. The only problem with that was that she spent so many years being someone she was not, she didn’t know what her heart’s desire was anymore. The time had come to move on. She told the frog that she was leaving, forever. The frog didn’t seem to care. He just grunted at her, as frogs usually do, and that was that. She gathered her belongings and went back to the castle she grew up in to be with her family. Everyone, friends and family alike, welcomed her back home. She knew she had done the right thing and knew that even if she were alone, she would never be lonely again. And the princess lived happily ever after.

The End.

Name, Address and Phone Number Please...

Whenever I tell someone about my situation, more often than not they inquire if I know who "the other woman" is. Why yes, I tell them...I not only know who she is I know all sorts of things about her. For instance...I know her full name, Charlot Doomie Babylon, and her birth date, November 23, 1964, I know where she lives and where she works. I know her car and license plate number. I also know all of her telephone numbers which includes, 2 cell phones (one for her work as a sales rep. for cleaning products and the other for personal use), the number of the bar where she works (3 nights a week from 6pm to 1am), the 800 number for her sales job, and her two house phones...one is in her daughter's name. That name would be, Diane. Charlot also has a son, Jarred. Diane is 23 years old, married and lives in Lowell...birthday, April 4, 1986. Jarred is 20, still lives at home with "Mommy Dearest" while attending college...birthday, May 10, 1989. Both of her children carry her maiden name, Doomie, not her married name, so one can assume that she had these 2 children before she married Scott Babylon...I know I do. The house she lives in was purchased by the happy couple in 1998 for $159,000. When the marriage fell apart (wonder why), ownership was transferred solely to her for $1.00, and our dear Charlot was divorced (wonder why) from Scott in 2002. Most of this information I found using Internet services like Net Detective and Intellius. And, most of this information was completely useless, but I liked having it. It made me feel really superior that I knew all these things about her, especially when she had absolutely no idea that I even knew she existed. And, it came in very handy when I used some of it to freak her out the first time we met. Oh...have I mentioned that before? Well, yes, I have had the privilege of actually meeting my husband's mistress...How lucky am I! I have actually spoken with her, and more than once. I caught them together three times, four, if you count spying on them in a parking lot late at night when they didn't know I was there. The first three times I made my presence known. That last time was...well...the last straw. It pushed me off the fence I'd been sitting on trying to decide whether or not to leave him. I had had enough at that point and couldn't be bothered wasting my breath confronting him about it. It had been six months since I first found out Dick had cheated on me. I knew that night I would never trust him again. Even if I wanted to or tried to, there would always be some doubt. And that little voice in my head questioning if he was being truthful. He had lied to me far too many times. I finally knew what I was going to do, what I had to do. I just didn't know how or when I would do it.

The Scent of a Woman

The evidence I gathered and all the clues were just pieces of the puzzle that would turn out to be Dick’s mid-life crisis. I have previously mentioned the new style of underwear and all the “shopping” he was doing, but there were other things that were out of the ordinary for him. He definitely dressed better…and smelled better too. There was this odd little bottle of cologne that appeared in the bathroom closet after he returned from one of his “guy trips” . He never wore cologne. I was allergic to an array of brands. He could never keep it straight which ones bothered me, so, he just found it easier to not wear any. That way he didn’t have to look like an ass for wearing the wrong one for the hundredth time, making me sick from the smell. Now, all of a sudden it didn’t seem to matter. He’d splash that crap on and out the door he’d go. Of course he was never going out with me, so I guess that could have been a good reason for him to start using it again. I did ask him about the new cologne, not in an accusatory way of course, just in a “oh, what’s this?“ kind of way when I accidentally on purpose knocked it over on the self. He had some excuse about how he picked it up in the hotel gift shop, because he had forgotten his electric razor when he went to Miami and had to buy shaving supplies. Sounded good, but…I didn’t believe him, so of course I had to investigate. I looked it up online and found out that the small bottle, and I mean small, like the one he had, cost $40. If he had bought it in the gift shop it probably cost even more…and it was cologne, not aftershave. All I could think was there is no way on God’s good earth that this man cracked open his wallet, blew the cob webs off the bills and shelled out some 40 plus dollars just to smell pretty. Not in this lifetime, no way…unless of course Harry had told him he should buy it, then, well, maybe. And, if he did, he obviously didn’t care that I might be allergic to it. On another note, but keeping with clues and smells...
One time when Dick and I were actually going someplace together, when I got into the car, I noticed that on the console was a piece of silver chain. He quickly picked it up, when he got in. But, realizing that I had seen it he asked if it belonged to me. “Nope, not mine.” I said. He then said something like he had found it on the ground outside the car. Which didn’t make sense to me since the car was always in the garage. He obviously didn’t have time to think that through, but he needed an explanation as to why a piece of jewelry that was not mine would be in our car. If it was mine, it would have had to been outside someplace other than home, and I would have had to been there with him…duh! I looked at it. It was a chain extender for a necklace. Dick probably pulled it off her neck in the heat of passion. “Huh…Oh well” he said as he tossed it back on the console, “I thought it might be yours.” Funny thing though, the morning after the next time he was out…it had disappeared. Weird. During our outing that night I kept smelling something perfumey. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, then I realized it was on the seat belt. As you now know I am allergic to many scents…this one was making me sick. When I mentioned it he said Harry was sitting there last night, and it was probably his cologne. I let him think that I bought that explanation, but I knew it had to be her. Harry is at least a foot taller than her and if that smell came from him it would have had to come from his armpit. Harry’s armpits do not smell that nice. Whomever was sitting there stinking up my seat belt was about my height. Because the spot on the belt that smelled was right at my neck. Why is he doing this, I thought. Is he really that stupid or does he just not care? I knew the answer to that question was the latter. The truth was that I was no longer important enough. I had slipped out of the number one position on his “Things I care about” list. At this point I think I was jockeying with the lawn mower for the ninth or tenth position. Eventually I was off the list completely, but until I finally realized that was the case I continued torturing myself by staying with him.

But wait…there’s more.

The car, it held a multitude of clues. We kept our car in the garage so one might think that leaving the car windows open over night wouldn’t be any big deal. But, if you know Dick like I do then you would understand why this was such a red flag for me. He is so anal about such things. Everything is always closed up tight. In all the time we were together he never once left them open, especially over night, until now, and it happened more than once. I had to assume that he was airing out the car from the smell of cigarette smoke. I came to that conclusion because of: 1. The spots of ashes by the passenger side window, 2. The fact that the cigarette lighter in the car, which in 11 years had never been used, now had signs of obvious use, and 3. The burnt piece of cigarette paper that I found on the back seat one morning. Every morning I after he left for work, I would go into the car with a flashlight and a lint roller, you know, the ones made out of tape. What I found were long, reddish hairs with a slight curl to them…not mine. These hairs were also not from any of my friends and they certainly did not belong to Harry. Also, what appeared to be cat fur of a similar red tone. Later I was to find out that the fur was actually from her coat. Last but not least….glitter. It was on the passenger seat and on the back seat. At first I thought it was possible the glitter could have come from one of my shirts, but I hadn’t worn the only shirt I had with any glitter on it since last Christmas. Not to mention, I make it a habit of not sitting in the back seat while driving. When it showed up again and again, after I had cleaned all the seats, I knew it wasn’t mine. Then we have the moving blanket. Out of the blue there appeared a moving blanket in the trunk. It was brand new, still sealed in its plastic wrapper. “What is this for?” I asked him when I saw it. “Oh that…umm…its, aah…in case the car breaks down and I have to get down on the ground to look underneath it. That way I won’t get dirty.” Yea, sure, I thought, so that’s what they‘re calling it now?. So, I of course started keeping tabs on the blanket. Now, I don’t know what the hell it was used for and where, but it was used…for something, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that “something“ might be. When the plastic wrapper it was originally in had been replaced by a bag, I asked him “Did the car break down?“ “Huh?…Why?“ he answered. “Well, the blanket is in a different bag, so I thought maybe you had to use it. Is there something you need to tell me?“ I said. The color drained from his face and he fidgeted nervously with his keys as he responded with “No…What?…Why?…What do you mean?” “About the car.” I said, “Is there something wrong with the car that you need to tell me?“ I could see the relief wash over him. “Oh…No…everything is fine. I, um, just put it into a bag so I wouldn’t have to fumble around in the dark trying to get it out.“ Yes, that is what he said…fumble around in the dark trying to get it out. I’m sure you can imagine what I was thinking when those words came out of his mouth, but I am trying to keep this PG rated so I will say no more. Occasionally it was obvious that the blanket had been taken out of the bag because it was put back in a different way. I would make sure that it was all the way in and the next day it would be half way out. But, the real kicker was the glitter I found on it. I opened it up a few times and inspected it with my trusty flashlight and my how it sparkled. It also had the same types of hair on it here and there. So, I guessed the blanket wasn’t the only thing he was fumbling around in the dark with.

CLUES FROM THE CLULESS

Its amazing how much evidence Dick left in his wake. I suppose if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was actually looking for clues, I might not have noticed all the little tell tale signs. But even before I knew he was cheating there were things that I noticed that were different. Most if them were just simple little things, subtle differences that made me pause for just a moment. Things like his underwear. Yes, that’s correct, his underwear made me suspect something was up. Dick had been “a tighty-whitey” guy since he was out of training pants. Now, suddenly he was wearing boxer-briefs, in black and charcoal gray, and he only wore them when he went out…never to work during the day. He seemed to be clothes shopping a lot too. Dick does not shop. But now he seemed to come home with a new shirt quite often. He would even use “going to the mall” as a reason for going out. Once I said I would go with him because I didn’t feel like sitting at home all night. Guess what…he didn’t go. He farted around for a while and then landed on the couch, deciding that he was too tired. Something else that was not the norm for Dick…he was now carrying two cell phones. Dick didn’t really like carrying one. It was a necessary evil, so he did. Now he also had a cell phone from work with him 24-7. I often saw him talking on it outside, but never in my presence. That phone was always kept out of sight. I could see it in his pocket, but he never left it out anywhere, until one night. He had come home, not six, but more like twelve sheets to the wind and passed out on the bed. I went downstairs to get my nightgowns out of the dryer and there on the workbench sat the other cell phone. He apparently didn’t realize he had left it there when he went up to bed. The call log showed 2 calls that afternoon to the same cell phone number I found on our bill that the Intellus report listed “owner Charlot” . He also had it programmed in his contacts as Charlie. There were lots of calls to and from Charlie, many of them late in the evening into the A.M. hours, so I knew this Charlie had nothing to do with work. As far as I knew, he didn’t know anyone named Charlie. The more I think of it now he was practically leaving me a trail of bread crumbs. That trail had many more twists and turns, but it eventually led me to the truth.

Love is a Many Splendor Thing

I have been thinking about all the negative things I've said about Dick. You're probably wondering why I married him, and stayed married so long. It's simple, I was in love. I loved him, and I trusted him. I felt safe with him. In the beginning the drinking was not a problem. Sometimes when he drank it was a problem, but that was only on the weekends at a party or social gathering. It wasn't an everyday occurrence. Normal everyday life did not include me shuttering with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at the sound of a beer can being popped open. He used to call it a happy sound. I hated hearing it. It wasn't until the last year or so that he was drinking almost everyday, and many times way passed the point of just 'gettin' a buzz on'. It is truly amazing the things you are able to overlook when you love someone. You keep hoping that it will get better, but it doesn't. You keep telling yourself that you are going to speak up and lay down the law, but you don't. Why? Because sometimes it's just easier to ride out the storm. You know it will pass and the sun will shine again. After a bad session with him, the next day it would be like it never happened. I was never really sure if he was just ignoring the elephant in the room, or if he suffered from black outs and really didn't remember. At that point things were calm and because I so didn't want to churn up the storm I wouldn't say anything. I, like him, would act like everything was fine. It took me a long time to be able to say the word 'alcoholic'. In my book that was the reason for a lot our difficulties. It was the catalyst for all the mistakes and bad decisions he made. The problem I had with doing something about it was...guilt. I couldn't leave him because he was an alcoholic. They say alcoholism is a disease. To me, leaving because of that would be like abandoning a sick child because you're too tired to care for it anymore. If he had cancer, or some other disease, I wouldn't leave him, so how could leave because he drank too much? I couldn't. But, when I discovered he was having an affair that guilt melted away in seconds, and I was free. It took me another 7 months to finally pack up and leave partly because I was willing to give him a second chance and also because I needed to gather more information about what he was up to exactly. There was a small part of me that thought we might be able to find our way back, but mostly I knew it was over, I just had to be sure. The bottom line was, I didn't trust him anymore. It didn't matter what else I felt for him. If there wasn't trust, there was nothing.

People Let Me Tell Ya 'bout my Best Friend

Dick has a friend named Harry. You have heard me mention him earlier on. He is his best friend from way back. Harry walks on water you know, and knows everything there is to know about...well...everything. Just ask him. Harry also like to have his way. When they go out, they always go where Harry wants to go even if Dick doesn't particularly care for the place. When Harry has a project he needs help with...like putting in an air conditioner, ripping out cabinets or moving to a third floor apartment with no elevator, all he has to do is snap his fingers and Dick comes running. He also gets him to help shovel snow to clear walkways at various properties he owns because he is too cheap to pay someone to do it. Its not that he can't afford to pay people, because he can. Harry has money...lots of it...unfortunately its all tied up in real estate. But why pay someone to do all these things when Dick will do it for nothing. Basically, Dick is Harry's bitch. He's like a loyal little dog. What ever Harry tells Dick he should do, Dick does. For instance, Harry had always told him that if he had been drinking and got a flat to just leave the car. If he tried to change it and the police stopped to help, he could get arrested for drunk driving. Harry knew this because he is member of the auxiliary police in one of the surrounding towns. He said the best thing to do was to walk away from the car. Which was not a problem for Dick. Over the years he had a habit of walking home from bars at all hours of the night. Once his friends accidentally left him at some dive in the city. He didn’t have a cell phone at the time or enough change for the pay phone. He had only one quarter and it cost more than that to call our house from in town. So, he started walking. Every time he came across a pay phone he would try to call, but until he reached one close enough to be able to use his quarter, he had to keep walking. The good thing was that by the time he was able to afford the call home, he had sobered up and I didn’t have to deal with a drunk Dick when I went to pick him up. Usually that was the case. I would get a call at 1 or 2am from him, slobbering drunk, telling me that he was walking home because he and Harry had a fight, or Harry wasn’t ready to leave and he wanted to go home. He would never ask me to come pick him up, he would just tell me he was walking. I always wanted to say, “That’s nice dear, see you in the morning.” and hang up. But, if course I never did. I wouldn’t do that because in spite of all his faults, I loved him and he loved me. He needed me, so instead of leaving him to wander the streets alone in the middle of the night, I would get dressed, get in the car and go fetch him, which is what I did once again that night. When he got in the car that night I asked a question that had been on my mind since he called…“Why didn’t you take a cab?” “Huh?” he said. “You know, a taxi?” He answered me with that condescending tone in his voice that would make me want to bitch slap him…”Ah…I didn’t have enough cash on me.” That’s what he said, but I knew he was additionally thinking…”stupid”. So I said, “You could have paid when you got to the house.”, additionally thinking….f$*#@ng MORON!” With that he just shrugged and said he hadn’t thought of that, closed his eyes and spoke no more. No, “I’m sorry”, no “Thank you”…nothing, just snoring. I of course did what I always did…nothing. The next day life went on as usual. We never spoke of it again. That was our usual. Don’t talk about it, just bury it with everything else we never talked about. That burial ground was getting very full, too full for any marriage to survive.

Joy Sucker

The GPS is a wonderful little invention. The type that most people have gives directions. It can help you find your way to where ever you need to go. It sits on your dashboard or suctioned to your window, speaking in a voice of your choosing, telling you where and when to turn and announcing when you have arrived at your destination. What could be more awesome? Well, I will tell you. The one that I bought online. It is called The Snitch. It doesn’t sit out in plain sight, it hides in a vehicle. It doesn’t tell you where to go, in fact it doesn’t speak at all. It is silent and stealthy and reports the position of the vehicle its hidden in by way of satellite signals to the computer of the person who hid it, and that would be me. The Snitch is about the size of a large cell phone and it fit very nicely strapped to the jack in the trunk. It was the ideal place for it. The jack was secured in the wheel well under a piece of press board that was under the carpet in the trunk. The only way he would happened to come across it is if he got a flat tire. Chances where that if he did, he would be too drunk to change the tire anyway. So that is where I decided to hide The Snitch. I had a holder for my MP3 player that was the perfect size for my new toy. It had an elastic strap with velcro so you could put it around your arm while exercising. Since that hadn’t been an activity of mine for quite some time the holder was not being used. I blew the dust off it and slipped the Snitch in. The only problem was that the front of it was clear vinyl so you could see right in to it. Big orange and black letters spelling out its name. This would not do. I was afraid I might forget to put it away sometime and he might see it and then the jig would be up. I forgot how blissfully unaware he was of what and how much I knew, and that he probably wasn’t bright enough to put two and two together anyway. So, in a moment of extreme overkill, I actually scanned my MP3 player, printed a picture of it and inserted it in the holder, thus disguising The Snitch. Like I said, overkill, but it was this type of attention to detail that aided me in my search for the facts. Everyday after Dick left for work I would plug it in and charge it up. Then, after dinner while he was in the shower I would sneak down to the garage and secure it to the jack. Quickly, but quietly I would close the trunk and return to the kitchen to finish cleaning up the dishes. After he left for the evening I would sit, at the computer and watch his every move. I kept a journal of where he went and how long he stayed. One night he had a big old story of where he was going and who he would be seeing. He usually just said he was going out, nothing more, just out. But this night he was being too specific. I knew something was up. There I was, for hours, with my laptop beside me yelling at the screen….”LIER!!!” “YOU LYING SACK OF S#!T!!” The worst part of it was that I only knew where he was, but not what he was doing or who he was with, doing whatever it was he was doing. My imagination ran wild. Not a good thing. Sometimes I would cry, sobbing hysterically, “Why? Why don’t you love me anymore?” Other times I would get so angry I would scream, just stand there and scream until my throat was raw. I think I was trying to purge myself of what I was feeling. After a time I noticed that I was pretty much feeling nothing. And this was not only when I was tracking Dick. It was all the time. There was no anger, no sadness, certainly no shock, but also, no happiness, peace, or love. I had shut down. He had sucked the joy and right out of my life. I was just going through the motions, trying to survive emotionally, until I was ready to do something to change my situation and that wouldn’t be for another six months

My Darling Dick

Just to give you a better idea of where Dick and I were as a couple, I need to go back to ground zero, the day I came home from the hospital. As I mentioned before, the instructions I received from my doctor were to stay in a reclined position and not to get up except for trips to the bathroom and meals. I was to do this for a week, then I could start getting up and walking around for 10 minutes at a time a few times a day. One point that was stressed about the first day was that I was not to be left alone. I guess knowing that most people have a habit of not following the "Don't get up" rule to the letter makes it important to have someone around to enforce it. Its just that it feels so good to be home you think you have more stamina than you actually do, and that leads to taking on more than you should. So, just in case I got woozy from the meds and passed out, or fell, I needed to have someone there. Not a problem. I had a husband. He cared about me. He would be there to tend to my every need. Even though he was a cheating son-of-a-bitch, he still cared about my well being...or so I thought. It was somewhere around nine o'clock when I heard the sound of keys jingling. No...I said to myself...it couldn't be...could it? He wouldn't...would he? Was he going out? You bet ya! I got up and went to the top of the stairs and there he was by the door, putting his coat on. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Going out with Harry." He said. I reminded him that I wasn't supposed to be left alone. He told me that he had plans, he promised Harry he'd meet up with him. I started to cry..."Please don't go out. Not tonight! What if something happens to me?" "I have my phone, just call me." Oh, yea, right. Now there's a good idea I thought...when I finally come to after passing out, I'll crawl to my phone and call a drunk to come help me!!! That is if he even bothers to answer it. "Please," I said again, "Stay home. Don't leave me alone." "Sorry but I promised Harry. You weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow, so we made plans. Its not my fault you came home a day early." Aside from the little sniffles and hiccups one gets when crying, no other sounds came out of me. I stood there quietly sobbing in disbelief as I watched him walk out the front door. His parting words to me were "I won't be late." I don't know about you, but I consider anything after midnight as being late. So, when 2:20am rolled around and he stumbled in I knew that he may have seen Harry that night at some point, but he must have been with her. I had no way to prove it, it was just a gut feeling, that and the fact that he never came upstairs to go to bed. He slept on the couch in the family room. He always did that as a way of avioding me incase I happened to be awake. He probably had a date and didn't want to cancel. If he was really going out with Harry, he would have canceled...well, he would have at least considered cancelling. I didn't like all the wondering. Where was he going? Who was he with? Was he telling me the truth? So, I did the only thing I could do...I went online and ordered a GPS tracking device to put in the car...best investment I ever made! I had it shipped to my friend Claire's house to avoid Dick accidentally coming across it. And, I put a rush on it. Now the real fun was about to begin.

The Early Daze

I thought that I should comment on how Dick and I began. Dick was my first real boyfriend. He was the one I gave myself to, body and soul. Yes, he was my first in every sense of the word. Hopefully he won't be my last! We met at his Senior Prom. I was there with a friend of his that I worked with. We sat across form each other and I found myself staring at him quite a bit. I wasn't staring because he was gorgeous or anything, I thought he was cute, but nothing to write home about. I was drawn to him for some reason. At one point I found myself thinking..."I wonder what it would be like to go out with him?" Then he did something or said something that escapes me right now and I thought..."Never mind...he's probably an asshole." That was not the only time I thought that or something similar in the months leading up to when we finally became "us", a couple. I remember how my best friend at the time, Tina, took an instant dislike to him the first time she met him. Dick and I weren't going out yet, but we happened to be at the same party one night and he just made the hair on the back of Tina's neck stand up. He was half in the wrapper and kept trying to throw bottle caps and peanuts down my shirt. I know, real mature. What a catch!! This type of behavior in a drunk, 19 year old boy is not something that usually sends up warning signals, but for some reason all Tina could see were red flags. I on the other hand kind of enjoyed the attention...after all what drunk 18 year old girl wouldn't? Tina told me on the way home that she didn't trust him and hoped that I wasn't interested in him. I distinctly remember saying to her "Oh, please!! Don't worry, I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole!!!" Yup, a ten foot pole. Those were my words and I meant them. That was in July, by the end of August Dick and I were dating, you know, going steady. What changed? He told me he loved me. With those three words he became my Prince Charming. He rode up on his white horse and swept me off my feet. Thirty one years later, he dropped me...right on my ass. And Prince Charming turned out to be nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

Fact Finding Tour: Day 1

I went back to the drawer, his underwear drawer that is, the next day to have another look at the evidence. I wanted to check his credit card number against the one on the hotel receipt, but it was gone. No matter, I had my scanned copy of it so I just used that. My next stop was downstairs to the file cabinet to take a look at his credit card statements.
He had taken to locking the file cabinet a while ago, and kept the key out of sight. It lived under the old work gloves with the 2 screwdrivers on top, next to the key rack...at least it did until now. It was gone! Well, that just made me want to get in to the cabinet all the more. What could he be hiding in there? This was just too deliciously tempting for me. I had to get in there. I would find that key. It was like he was daring me to find it. The challenge was on. Something you need to know about me is that when I was a child I always found where my mother hid the Christmas presents. Every year she would pick a different spot, and every year I would find them. She even started wrapping them as soon as she got them home so I couldn't tell what they were even if I did find them. I got very adept at peeling back tape and re-wrapping gifts. Well, that locked file cabinet was like a big gift, all wrapped up, just taunting me. I couldn't resist sneaking a peek to see what was inside. But first I had to find that key. Hmmm...where to start? Ah, yes...I must think like Dick...scary place that is inside his head, but I had to do it. Think simple, I told myself. It has to be somewhere near by. I opened the top drawer of the work bench and began searching through all the little compartments full of screws, nails, nuts and bolts, rubber bands and...hello...keys. The key was right there under a bunch of rubber bands. Dam...that was no challenge at all. It was kind of a let down to have found it so quickly. He really didn't put much thought into his hiding process. But, then I realized that he did think he had to. He had no idea that I was on to him. That was when I decided to never let on that I knew anything until I was absolutely ready. I would not act any different towards him no matter what I found out. If he even suspected that I knew anything he might start being more careful and I couldn't have that. At this point I decided to suspend my snooping for the day. I had only come home from the hospital the day before and I wasn't supposed to be up and about except for trips to the bathroom and for meals. I had to start taking better care of myself...you know, heal up and get well so I could kick his ass to the curb!! I was suddenly so exhausted it was all I could do to close the drawer and get back upstairs to my recliner. I got myself all comfy and fell off to sleep with a feeling of satisfaction that put a little smile on my face.

Putting the Pieces Together

I found the hotel receipt in the drawer were he keeps his condom stash. I was in there because I was going to count them. I had counted them before I went into the hospital and I wanted to see if any had gone missing when I was gone. That in itself not only says that I suspected “something”, but that it pretty much screams, “Affair”. Even though I now had what I considered solid evidence, I felt I had to be sure of everything before I started making accusations. My mind went on this ridiculous attempt to try and explain it. I could picture these two mini-me’s in my head arguing back and forth.
Me 1: “What if I’m wrong?”
Me 2: “You know you’re not!“
Me 1: “What if there is a perfectly logical explanation?”
Me 2: “For him hiding a receipt to The Marriott Long Warf in Boston, in his underwear draw?”
Me 1: “Well, there could be.”
Me 2: “Are you freaking serious?”
I even thought of a few ways to explain the name and address on the top of the receipt…Charlot Babylon, 1023 Continental Dr…her name and address. It could be the person who took the reservation, right? Perhaps he knows her husband. Yes, that could be it. Dick and her husband know each other. He called him to ask if his wife could make a reservation for him to stay at that hotel. Maybe he made the reservation for us as a surprise for our anniversary before he knew I was going to have surgery. He could have been so caught up in his concern for my well being that he forgot to cancel the reservation. Rather than just waste it he went in town and stayed overnight, alone. After all, he’s not one to waste money and he would have been home alone anyway, so why not? Man, oh man, it’s amazing the crap you’re willing to try and believe when something like this happens. Needless to say, I could not convince myself that there was any other explanation than he took another woman to a hotel while I was lying in a hospital bed recovering from major surgery.

During the next 8 weeks while I was recovering from my hysterectomy I spent a lot of time trying to figure out just exactly what was going on with Dick and his extracurricular activities. I used various online search tools during this investigative phase such as Intellus, Reverse Phone look-up and Net Detective. Net Detective proved to be quite valuable in gathering information. With it I was even able to find out when and how much she bought and paid for her house, not that I needed to know that, but it made me feel dam good that I could. I checked the cell phone bills and found that he had called the number that was on the now infamous hotel receipt, while he was in Miami in May. I also noticed that there were numerous calls to two other numbers that same week. A report from Intellus provided the information that both these numbers belonged to cell phones, owners name…Charlot. Hmmm…where have I seen that name before, oh yes, the HOTEL RECIEPT!!! Now I know this is a huge red flag, but playing the devil’s advocate I told myself that if someone was to look up his cell phone number it would come back as owners name…Betty. I wasn’t grasping at straws; I was just making sure to cover all bases. I didn’t want to leave him any way to plausibly explain it. So, I just added that bit of information to my ever-growing “Spouse-ectomy” file and continued on my fact-finding mission.

Backing Up

I know I am skipping around but that's just how my mind works. Back in January I tried to start keeping a journal. Here for your reading pleasure is the first and only entry I ever made.

January 24, 2009
It’s Saturday night and I’m sitting here alone, again. It’s not so bad, to be alone. I enjoy the quiet, most of the time. Either that or I’m just getting used to it. I feel like I‘ve been on auto pilot, just going through the motions of life day after day. I got up this morning and made coffee for the two of us like I do every morning, 2 sugars and a bit of half & half for him, hazelnut coffee mate for me. I’ve been doing this most every morning for the past 24 plus years. That’s how long we’ve been married as of today. This morning was different. As I turned to hand him his mug I had this vivid fantasy of throwing it in his face and yelling “Here’s your coffee asshole!!! How does it feel to get burned?” I so wanted to do it. The thought of it made me smile. Oh how I wished I had the guts, but, I just sort of smirked at him instead as I put the coffee on the counter.
I can’t say how much longer we will be married, but I’m pretty sure we won’t see our 25th anniversary. We may still be legally married, but our marriage ended, for me anyway, this past July. The day I came home from the hospital after having a hysterectomy and found the receipt for the hotel he took another woman to. Yes, what a wonderful homecoming it was. Nothing says “I love you” like finding out your husband’s a cheating son-of-a-bitch! Yet, when I found it, instead of freaking out, I just made a copy of it. I scanned it, then put it back where I found it, and thus began a whole new phase of my life. In that instant everything changed. It was like being dropped in a foreign land where I knew none of the customs or the language. I could no longer go through my days pretending that my marriage was good, okay or even just normal. I was suddenly not really a wife anymore. I was...a woman scorned! You know they say, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”, I know it's true, I've seen it. But, I had no fury. I did feel something for a split second when I found that hotel receipt. It was quick and quite intense, but it wasn’t what one would expect for a reaction to finding out your husband is screwing around. Crying, screaming, yelling and making accusations would have been more common. But, for me, with what I felt in that instant, I just couldn’t do those things. Was I paralyzed by disbelief? I would have to say that was not the case, because what I felt, for that split second was…freedom. I actually heard the words, clear as day, “Now I can get out”, rolling around in my head. I was a little shocked, but apparently some part of me knew that this thing I called a marriage was not what a marriage was supposed to be like. The truth is I had suspected something was going on for awhile. I just didn’t want to believe it because I felt that believing it would be a reflection on me. It would only go to prove that I was, as I had suspected for a long time, unattractive. I would have to accept the fact that I was lazy, moody, no fun to be with and just a plain old bitch. But, then I realized that it had nothing to do with me. Sure I was all those things, but only with him. But that wasn’t the real me. It was who I had become with him. I was miserable. I had lost my passion. He had sucked the joy out of my life. Well, no more I said to myself, and that hotel receipt was my ticket out.

Exodus

So, back to the events of February 9, 2009. While I was at work that day I decided that I just couldn't stay at the house anymore. After dropping my little bomb that morning I was afraid of seeing him. Actually I was more uncomfortable than afraid. You see, I had expected one of two reactions from him when he got home from work that evening. One would be anger and disbelief, the other being sadness and remorse. I foolishly thought that there might even be a little begging not to do this thrown in for good measure. I didn't want to deal with either option, or him in any way. I thought that if he was nice to me and asked me not to leave I would lose my resolve and not follow through. So, I spent the afternoon packing my clothes and other essentials to take with me to my parents. They had told me that when I was ready, I could stay with them. Just as I was finishing up I got a phone call from Dick. My mind raced as to what he would say. Was he going to beg me not to leave him? Would he want to talk and try to work things out? I answered, "Hello". "Hi...So, how do you want to do this thing?" was what he said. "Excuse me" I said "Do what exactly?" I knew exactly what he was talking about. I know him. I know how he thinks and how he phrases things, but I persisted. "Could you be a bit more specific about this 'thing'?" "Well, this morning you said you wanted a divorce. I'm just wondering how you want to proceed with it?" Wow, I thought, so much for my fears of how he would react. There was no emotion in his voice at all. He might just as well have been a bagger at the food store asking me if I wanted paper or plastic. I had to ask again what he meant by that. The answer was should we do it with lawyers or do mediation? "Oh...I already have a lawyer" I told him "...and I dropped off a retainer check at his office this afternoon. So I guess that is how we are proceeding with 'this'." His response..."Oh....guess I better get one too then." After agreeing with him that it would be a good idea, I told him that I was going to go stay with my parents for a while until we sort things out. I didn't think we should or could be under the same roof under the circumstances. Since I knew he had no place to go and I did, I thought it was best that I leave for now. And he said...wait for it..."Oh...whatever." Such emotion!!! Man I really turned his world upside down! It became increasingly clear that he was done with this marriage long before I was even aware that there was a problem. Before we hung up I asked him if he knew anything about the house phone. I had tried to call my mom to tell her I was coming but it was dead. When I used my cell phone to call and check the line I got a recording that the number had been changed. Changed? The new number was...his cell phone number. "What's up with that?" He told me that he had the phone service shut off that morning. When I questioned him as to why, he said he did it because he didn't need it anymore, why pay for it. I had nothing to say. I was stunned. Who are you, I thought, and what did you do with Dick? I thought I knew him so well, but as they say...I don't know Dick. But this would turn out to be only the first of many situations that just left me shaking my head in disbelief. With the end of that conversation I gathered the rest of my stuff and left my home of 25 years to return to my old room in the house I grew up in. After I had all my things unpacked and put away something funny struck me...funny, odd. Not funny, Ha Ha. I remembered moving out of my parents house when I got married. I walked out the front door and thought.."FREEDOM". Twenty five years later, here I was walking back in the same door and thinking..."FREEDOM!!"

The Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Innocent

I need to clarify something.  My name is not really Betty and my soon to be ex-husband's name is not Dick.  All of the names in my blog have been changed as a way of protecting the privacy of my friends and family.  I chose the name Betty for myself because it was part of a nickname that my husband had for me....Sweaty Betty.  Yes, he is quite the charmer.  It was just his loving way of pointing out to me that I needed to lose weight.  Every time I would be eating more of something than he thought I should, or eating something he thought I shouldn't, he would start calling me Sweaty Betty.  It was really fun when he did this in front of our friends and family.  I guess it was supposed to be funny.  I never thought so...never quite saw the humor in it, but I also never let on how much it hurt.  For some strange reason that escapes me now I always felt that he was a good person and just had a weird way of expressing himself.  I couldn't let myself believe that he was doing it just to hurt me.  He was, concerned, yeah that's it.  In the end, his obsession with what and how much I was eating lead me to become a closet eater.  Every time he left the house I would be in the fridge and the cabinets looking for something to eat.  It didn't really matter what it was, just that I could enjoy it without being called a name.  I would buy contra ban foods and hide them in the house, then when he was out I would endulge to my hearts content.  Then the task of hiding the evidence had to be taken care of.  I had many secret hiding places in the house.  I have even used a half empty box of Pads or Tampons to stash something like candy wrappers.  I knew he would never look in there.  Then, every couple of months I would go through my closets and secret hiding places and dispose of the tell tale cartons, wrappers, bags and any other type of container that I had stashed away.  There were times when I could fill a tall kitchen can bag with my food trash.  Somehow I felt like I was getting back at him.  The end result of all this is that I ballooned up to being 100lbs over weight.  Guess I showed him!!!  I am happy to report that since that fateful day in February when I left him, my weight has been slowly decreasing.  Not by much, but enough to make me start feeling better about myself.

Well, enough about me and my "name" choice.  For my husband I chose the name Dick.  I decided on Dick...because...well... do I really have to explain?  I think not.  But just in case, here is a hint.  His middle initial is H.  And, it suits him in more ways than one.  After all, as you will learn more later on, it's the part of his anatomy that played the biggest role in our marriage falling apart and finally ending...and please, don't read anything into the word "biggest".  If you were to ask him what happened he would tell you it was mostly about money.  Which is partially true, 'cause I was none too happy to find out he spent over $400 to take his girlfriend to a luxury hotel in town.  Then there were all the trips he took to Vegas, Florida, Myrtle Beach, without me and the going out every night drinking his paycheck away until 2 in the morning.  But I do digress.  What was I talking about?  Oh yes, changing the names to protect the innocent, and the guilty in this case.  I have done this because I think its a good story, but I have been accused of...how was it put now...oh, I remember...Disseminating information about him and our divorce over the Internet.  I was threatened with a gag order if I did not terminate this behavior.  The funny thing was, up until now I haven't put anything "on the Internet" about any of it.  Well, hopefully he won't figure it out and have my behavior terminated with a big 'ol gag order. I'm not worried though, he's not that bright.

The Beginning of The End

It was a morning like any other, a Monday in February, the 9th of 2009 to be exact. I was going through my usual routine of primping and prepping, readying myself for the day. I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when I suddenly stopped. I had this overwhelming feeling that it was time. The moment had come. My friend, Claire, said that when the time was right I would just know. That was exactly what happened. I couldn't wait any longer I had to do it now! Today was the day. I had had enough. I rinsed, spit, put down my toothbrush and headed for the family room. There he was, Dick, my husband of almost 25 years. He sat on the couch watching TV, blissfully unaware that life as he knew it was about to come to a screeching halt. "Hi" he said in a monotone that sounded like he couldn't be more disinterested that I had entered the room. It was his standard morning greeting now. Somewhere along the way he stopped saying "good morning" and took to just saying "Hi." And that, was just what I needed to push me to do what I knew I had to. "I want a divorce!" I announced. Oh my God, I thought, I said it, no turning back now. I forged ahead, full steam. "I can't do this anymore. I won't live like this anymore....I...am..done!" His response was something like"Huh?....Wha???" , which he punctuated with blank stupid look on his face. Hmm, I thought, I guess I have to clarify, so I asked him "Haven't you noticed that things have been a little, oh, I don't know...odd between us lately?" He shrugged and answered, "Well, no more so than they have been for a while." Every word out of his mouth just fueled me onward. "My point exactly!" I said, "I've had enough!" Being as quick witted as he is he said..."Oh."..nothing else, just, oh. I could see this conversation, as momentous as it should have been, was going to be no different than any other conversation we'd had over the last year. So, as I turned to leave for work I left him with one last comment. "I just thought you should know....be...ready!" And with that I went downstairs . I thought he would come after me. He had time to. I didn't leave right away, I had to put on my shoes and gather my things for work, and I didn't rush doing it either. I gave him the time and opportunity to do something, say something, but there was nothing. I heard him walking around, but he never came after me. He just let me walk out of the house and our life together without another word. So, I did the only thing I could do...I went to work. After work I drove to my lawyer's office to drop off a retainer check and give him the green light to go ahead and file the divorce complaint. And that as they say, is that.

Who am I?

Who is Betty? The short answer would be me, I am Betty. The problem is somewhere along the way, in this journey that is my life, I lost myself. I spent the last 25 years being some one's wife, but now that is over and I don't know who I am. Right now life is full of infinite possibilities. I can go anywhere, and be anything I want. I don't have to settle, or make a choice to please someone else. Everything I do now is all about me and my needs being met, not anyone else's. Like the song says..."It's my turn!!" I used to dream about having this kind of opportunity. Careful what you wish for. I am finding it overwhelming. I'm getting a do-over of sorts and I don't know where to begin!