Open a New Window

If you had the opportunity to change your life, would you? Or do we become too entrenched in the “almost” and “good-enough” and stop yearning for the “could be”? If someone opened a trapdoor for you, would you jump?

I did.

Now, I’m not brave and I’ve been known to be less than practically perfect but sometimes enough IS enough.

Just to get you quickly up to speed.

Two weeks ago, my much adored and emotionally stunted husband of 6 years announced he was having an affair. Now this declaration should have come as no revelation to me (for chris sakes his mother caught on before I did). I’m actually a little disappointed in myself for living up to the stereotype of the long suffering wife who just didn’t want to know what was going on under his very nose. But we see what we want to see. And boy, did I not want to see to my partner leave me for an older and less attractive weasel of a worm.

Now, I know that in this modern day, it’s extremely old-fashioned of me to expect a marriage (of homosexuals, no less) to remain true in the physical sense. I mean, come on, there are just too many tasty looking pastries at the buffet not to be tempted to stick a cannoli in your mouth every once in a while. And we’ve certainly had more than our share of trysts, flings, recreational pursuits and/or gentleman callers but the one thing that was verboten was emotional entanglement. I mean honestly, when a guy’s sticks his dick in your ass without so much as a “how’d ye do” you don’t really worry about it becoming a lingering sort of thing (though you would kinda like to have it last long enough to at least meet your needs).

I adore my husband. I thought he was the great love of my life and I know he feels the same about me but to be honest the bloom had rubbed off the rose of our relationship and some black spots had started to appear on the petals. And thus, we were primed for a pear-shaped poser with an understanding ear to, over time, erode the solid foundation of our happy home. I’ll call this home-wrecker, Twitch, after the unpleasant habit his lower lip has of curling up on the right side in a manner seen in nine out of ten stool pigeons and fences. Twitch had a happy home as well with a besmittem and blindered boyfriend who was also wrecked by the revelation that anyone else would actually want his old wreck.

When Dear (not my husband’s real name) confessed that he was in a tizzy and felt he had to reveal his guilty secret, it was mostly to ease his conscience and from a naïve hope that somehow all four of us could be bosom pals while they continued their ball banging business. It also turned out that Dear had grown quite close to Mortimer (not Twitch’s boyfriends real name) and was feeling extra guilty of his doubled-ended betrayal and yet on the flip side, couldn’t bear the thought that Twitch and Mortimer were continuing to have sex (a thought I found equally repulsive but for different reasons). So my husband pulled the ripcord and everything not tied down came loose.

When I suggested to Dear that it might be in the best interest of our relationship moving forward, that he leave Twitch behind (a request also placed by poor Mortimer), the thought of parting was too much for this two-bit Homeo and Juliet. I spent the worse part of a weekend consoling Dear over the loss of his great love and closest friend. It was a performance worthy of Bernhardt with histrionics and vomiting (and I’m the one that used to be on the stage!!!##!#). Dear is the only person I know who could turn himself into the starring role of all our scenes. I never once got the chance to play the victim as I was too busy peeling him off the ceiling. The tragic high point of the weekend was when the star crossed lovers said their final goodbyes, returning each others personal effects and, one presumed, locks of hair. They swore they would never, ever, ever see each other again. I drove around the block for two hours and only good sense and bad timing kept me from accidentally running Twitch down.

So the next morning, Dear gets up early and I know he’s sneaking off to go meet Twitch at the gym. He’s acting like he’s getting away with something but I wasn’t born yesterday. Now Mortimer also wasn’t born yesterday (or the day before yesterday) so when he sees Twitch slithering out of the house with his gym bag at 4:30am he hits the roof and throws Twitch out of the house and his possessions out the window. (How I wished I’d been there.) That afternoon Dear goes to his therapist for the first time IN A YEAR (like that’s really going to help) and comes home all excited saying he’s got all sorts of things he’s got to write down and then he sits me down, says he’s got big news and then he dumps me.

Did you ever have one of those moments where you were convinced you didn’t hear things quite right? Like your brain and your ears were on a time delay? Then it all kicks back in and I’m like “You’re dumping ME? YOU’RE dumping ME??!?” The audacity of this decision was too much for me. Something in me snapped. I started to cry and once again he out did me and I just sat back, his head resting on my knee, eyes streaming, heaving sobs and I looked at him and I thought who is this person? Either I’m dealing with a crazy person, the world’s biggest child, a midlife crisis gone awry or an emotionally stunted individual but any which way I just couldn’t do it anymore. And with that realization I felt a great sense of loss but a bigger sense of relief.

Within minutes, as expected, he was wailing about how he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. Well, duh! How do you dare weigh a 6 year relationship based in reality against 9 months of fantasy and sneaking around? Though I adore my ex-husband he has been a challenge over the years in many ways (more on that some other day). I knew we could get past this whole silly affair thing even if the dumping me had come as a huge slap in the face, but I also knew I didn’t want to return to the highs and lows of his emotional roller coaster or the endless nights when I paced the house while he’d disappeared on a drug-fueled bender.

Enough Was Enough. I adore him, I love him and I loved the good parts of our life and had suffered through the bad parts because I thought, well, that’s what you do. Relationships are hard work but you’re both working toward a common goal. But somewhere along the line our goals had changed. I still wanted the same things but he’d decided he’d rather trade our “good friends and conversation dinner-party/home body and gardening/close-knit family” existence for some tragic mid-life fumbling grasp at a return to “fun”. He’s the one that broke up with me but I’m the one that’s making sure he sticks to the deal. I  don’t know what comes next but I know what I’ve had and it’s no longer “good-enough”. Once that trapdoor is opened is it the brave ones or the foolish ones who take the leap? Only the time will tell.