Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 7

One glass of merlot later, I found myself sitting in front of my laptop. If I wanted to entertain women, little could be more entertaining than my being tipsy. If I wanted to educate women, then nothing could be more important than telling them about my impending Divorce Badge. And what about all the women out there who already had their Divorce Badge? I would be letting them know they were not alone.

Lord knew it made me feel better to know I wasn t alone.

I opened my laptop and readied myself for recording. Before I hit the button, I took a good look at the woman staring back at me. She might be older. Pretty sure she had crow s-feet when she smiled. She definitely swayed a bit from all the wine.

But all in all? It wasn t a bad face. Fairly symmetrical. Maybe the blue eyes were deep set enough that she smudged mascara, but they were usually happy eyes-at least they had been up until yesterday. Blond hair with only a glint of gray-nay, silver -here and there, but in a picture-perfect messy bun. Double chin not too pronounced-especially if she remembered to sit up straight.

There was nothing inherently unlovable about my face.

I went to take a sip of wine and noticed my glass was empty, but the bottle next to it was half-full.

That was just as good a place to start as any.

I started recording.

Tonight we re going to have a very special bonus episode of Mom Scouts. This episode has been brought to you by my duplicity . . . duplic-oh, my lying liar of a husband, Mitch.

I poured more wine for dramatic effect.

Gah. I probably shouldn t have told you his name, but I want you to know that he does not love me anymore. Wait. Wait. No, he ll -here, I employed finger quotes- always love me as the mother of his child, which somehow seems worse than not loving me at all.

Another sip.

Whatever. So, this Mitch. He proposed to me after we d been dating for only three months. Should ve been a clue, right?

I stopped to think about that night in the Italian restaurant. But then he said the sweetest thing, y all. He said-

I burped. Somehow, the belch didn t feel as mortifying as it should have. Excuse me. He said he wanted us to grow old together and to have matching rocking chairs. Then he promised to take care of me forever.

I looked straight at the red-faced, used-up woman who stared back at me from my laptop. Spoiler alert: we ain t there yet.

Another sip.

Oh, he s just full of revelations tonight. He doesn t love me anymore. He wants a divorce. He hates my chicken salad. My chicken salad is ah-mazing, y all. I make it with thinly sliced Granny Smith apples and just a smidge of curry. Who the heck wouldn t like that?

When no one answered me, I finally continued, Anyway. Mitchell Quackenbush is a liar. He says I m bad at sex. Maybe he s the one who s bad. Did he ever think about that? Heck, he taught me everything I know. Or don t know, as the case may be.

Remembering the mortification of stripping in the hallway and then being caught by my son made me shiver. And do you know how I found out? He had a manila folder full of paperwork about how we were gonna divide things. Who does that and then hides the papers in a freaking sock drawer? Who premeditates divorce like that? I d been thinking about taking a special anniversary trip to Hawaii, and he d been thinking about how much the house had appreciated?

Two sips of wine this time.

Maybe if he d spent more time appreciating me, we wouldn t be in this position. All I know is he s going to have a heck of an awakening when he has to do his own laundry and make his own meals and pay his own bills and mow his own lawn and wash his own dishes.

I ll figure it out. So what if I haven t typed up a r sum since the Clinton administration? Who cares that I didn t finish my degree because I was working as his receptionist to help pay down his school loans? I have skills, and I ll get what I earned in this marriage, even if none of my labor counts for the Social Security Administration.

I giggled, but the sound came out harsh.

Punk, please. My mom probably has twelve divorce attorneys on retainer right now. Surely I can use one of them.

Again I faced the laptop, mad at the woman there who didn t see this coming, who was stupid enough to believe in a man who d never believed in her. Mitch, you ve wasted a lot of things, including, but not limited to, my love, my goodwill, and my best years. But you ain t seen nothing yet. Here s to you, Mitchell Quackenbush!

I lifted my glass in a mock toast.

After draining it, I took the leftover piece of fabric from Cassidy s dress and slung it over my shoulder like a sash. The world was fuzzy enough and my words slurred enough that I needed to wrap this up. Looks like a different kind of Mom Scouts starts tonight, and I ll begin with my Divorce Badge. I can put all kinds of badges on here. This doesn t have to be an end. This can be a beginning.

The woman staring back at me had glassy eyes and a goofy smile, but I thought I could actually see a flicker of hope now. Yeah. A beginning.

I hesitated only a second before going through the usual litany of like, rate, review, subscribe, tell a friend, tell your dog, et cetera. Then I had one last idea.

Enough of this pity party. From now on, I m going to work hard to figure out who I am and what I like and what I need. Feel free to join me. This is Vivian Quackenbush, self-proclaimed headmistress of the Mom Scouts, signing off!

It was rather difficult to edit and go through all the steps it took to properly post a video, but I somehow managed it in spite of how the office spun around me. Since I couldn t curse on my video and still expect to be monetized, I allowed myself a cathartic motherfucker as I hit the final button that would make my video go live.

Righteous Indignation Badge acquired.