I Was Crazy About My Ex-Husband
Did he have good qualities? Only by the truckload. He was kindness personified, loved dogs, was well-read, honest, loaned money to my deadbeat friends, knew millions of jokes and once spent half a day speaking only in words that began with the letter “F” — “Forsooth, fastly find friend foodstuffs for feasting.” I tried to get him while he read the paper: “What news today, F Man?” “Facile fiduciaries fraudulently ferret funds,” he said, after just a few seconds.
He danced like Walter Brennan and could talk just like Pepe Le Pew, took magic lessons from The Great Zovello and when he messed up a trick would look you straight in the eye and say, “You did it wrong.”
But everyone changes and life moves on. One day, when I was complaining about some minor ache or pain, he said, “Maybe it's a tumor.” And that was the beginning of the end. He said I never dusted. I accused him of nagging. But for the most part, I honestly don't have any complaints against the way it ended. Unbeknownst to either of us, whatever civility we failed to demonstrate during our marriage blossomed forth just in time for our divorce.
“You take the dining room set,” he said. “I won't hear another word about it.”
“It's yours,” I parried. “You have the bigger dining room.”
“You can't have too many cheeseboards,” he said.
“Yes you can, you miserable …” I said and paused for a moment to look in his eyes. “Thank you very much for the four cheese boards.”
These days we don't talk very often, maybe a few times a year. We have to watch out because we get along too well and that confuses people. We definitely don't want to be married again or anything, but I dunno … every year around his birthday, I still have a nearly uncontrollable urge to send him a cheese board, and to hear a few well chosen F words.
Originally posted on Purple Clover