The Other Woman

I remember my friend and colleague Lorelei making a profound statement once.

We were sitting in my office eating lunch. J. at the time was still keeping up appearances and by all accounts seemed to be a great guy. However temporarily. Lorelei's boyfriend, Ned, seemed to be a great guy in many of the same ways. We were remarking on their similarities. How well we suspected they'd get along. How we should plan to go to dinner.

And then she brought up one difference between them that would make a difference to her.

Ned had never been married.

She was clear that this was not a moral statement. She was my hippy-dippy friend with offbeat ideals.

She said she could never accept someone's throw away spouse.

J. was Sandy's throw away spouse. Yesterday's news. Tomorrow's fish and chips paper. Rejected. Replaced. Recycled. Repurposed.

At the time, like an ass, I defended my choice. J. may have been the one to get the heave ho in a Dear John Post-It note on the kitchen counter, but Sandy was a nut case. Right? And besides, I'd known him forever. Our parents were friends for decades. I knew his character.

I know. So much for that.

But J. and I were together for the worst parts of our divorces. Heard each other's horror stories and injustices. Like when I wouldn't let Lars drive the kids home from his friend's house drunk and he ended up slurring a bunch of filthy names at me and slamming the door in my face in front of the kids. And the friend. And the friend's kid. And probably half a dozen totally flabbergasted neighbors. Or Sandy netting out the cost of a Catholic grade school gym uniform from J.'s child support payment, and selling the house without telling him (He didn't think that For Sale sign was a little suspicious?)

And as they inched toward dissolution, he spoke of her preoccupation with money, her willingness to humiliate him, her overreaction to seemingly little things, her extreme self interest. Her family's open disdain for him. Her feeling that his family would side with her.

Out of context, and with a little embellishment in the right places, and a little omission here and there, yep, Sandy had really meted out some hateful crap. (On the other hand, my Lars stories needed no tweaking. Right off the shelf they said it all.)

But in the context of the last year, a lot of Sandy stories seemed less outlandish. Less motivated by hate and more motivated by desperation and an unwillingness to be taken advantage of.

I felt as though I was walking in her shoes (however wide.)

I was beginning to see how she could justify all the things she'd done.

I was actually starting to applaud her.