Rude, Inattentive, Ill mannered, Oh My

And thus began a romance that bloomed and grew for the next three and a half years.

It was so exciting to have something to look forward to all the time…not waiting around for the next Girls Weekend or the next night out without Lars or the next milestone with the kids that I could enjoy in spite of him.

The difference was remarkable.

J. and I talked. About everything. About anything. For hours.

And never once did he act annoyed that I had dared open my mouth during the F-Troop Marathon, or give me the face that clearly was intended to say “What insipid comment must you make that can not wait until I am through yakking endlessly with my friend as though you are not here in the room?”

It was nice to plan what to wear out with J. It was refreshing to actually have somewhere to go, and someone to look nice for.

And someone who returned the favor by being dressed appropriately for the occasion, too. Without being asked. Who put a little effort into his appearance. Who wasn’t standing there in his underwear deciding what to wear just an hour before the wedding/bar mitzvah/dinner party as I stepped from the bathroom completely turned out from head to toe and prepared to dazzle him, if he’d so much as glance in my direction. Only to be asked to iron something at the last minute.

And though Lars would be hard pressed to notice if I were on fire, much less in a stunning new ensemble, he would occasionally, more so at the end of our long hellish journey to the edge of the abyss, make what I'm sure he thought were hilarious derogatory remarks about my appearance. To make me feel insecure. Level the psychic playing field, I guess.

Like telling me my beautiful silk shirt made me look like a jockey.

And comparing my new hair cut to that of a Campbell's Soup Kid (and I don’t mean Mmmm! Mmmm! Good!) Followed by informing me that my "whole head" had looked better the other way.

And inquiries that went something like “What are you supposed to be dressed up as?”

But what Lars had failed to realize was that, over time, his voice was not the only one I could hear.

I had received enough unsolicited compliments on my appearance from people outside my marriage to know that Lars was in the minority. And I don't mean compliments that were in response to my asking "Do these pants make me look fat?"

And frankly, I had gotten enough positive feedback about myself as a person in general to begin to realize that Lars was just a mean spirited kook. And being a mean spirited kook was just where his flaws began. There were plenty of others festering just behind the facade.

And it was that realization that set my feet on the path to divorce in the first place. If I was this wonderful, educated, worthwhile person to so many other wonderful, educated, worthwhile people who were not in a position of honor as my husband, why couldn’t my husband see me as such and take joy in the fact that every night I came home to him? Evidently only to be crapped on?

And if, despite my efforts to make him see me as anything more than just another wage earner in the house and just another person who he could dismiss like a serf, I was still, for all intents and purposes, invisible, why not vanish from his life altogether?

And when I finally had vanished, and alternately had appeared to J., he treated me as though I was a vision of loveliness, a joy to behold, a gift from above.

How very different. How very sad not to have felt that way for more than a dozen years of married life.