Door Number One, Number Two, or Number Three

Lars may not remember well, but he probably is paranoid and streety enough to see where this leads.

He will do one of three things:

1 - Realize that he is caught in the Devil's Bargain and come out swinging --- fighting for his life---lashing out indiscriminately and slashing and burning all in his path. He has a particular talent for creating distraction. Usually in the form of a problem he'll create just for me that is so heinous, so unthinkably awful, so threatening to life as I know and love it that I could not possibly conceive of devoting one more shred of effort or so much as one additional crumb of gray matter to the original issue so that I am not summarily beaten into submission by the newer threat. Too bad you can't do this in the Miss America Pageant. It's a winner every time.

2- Backpedal and feign sincere collaboration. He will attempt to be the spouse I only wish I'd divorced and attempt to engage me in some kind of peaceable conversation that in the end, he hopes, finds me having forfeited my principles and caving to his plan under the auspices of doing something selfless for the children because my love for them (and Catholic guilt) overwhelms me.

3- Nothing.

It's anyone's guess. And I am not sure which option I am most afraid to deal with.

The full on attack is ugly and momentarily distracts me from my mission, but only momentarily. It is by no means fun to be insulted and threatened, but the scariest part of that is Lars's complete and utter lack of boundaries. He has no shame. Will lie to anyone about anything to get his way. God knows whose ear he could whisper what nonsense into and have me scrambling for my livelihood, my children or my life. (Note: Never marry a kook. And if you do, don't tell him where you work. Or your real name.)

I am a sucker for the feigned sincerity every time. He really is diabolically good at it. It is mastery of this particular sham that has kept him alive, employed and out of jail (most of the time) his whole life. He sucks you in. Makes you believe his heart is pure gold, his intentions only the best and most genuine sort. Meanwhile he's picking your pocket.

But I think the nothingness is the most troubling. He may very well be wetting his pants on his side of town, but my perception is he has something cold, calculating, plotting, and wicked up his sleeve, and I am about to get it between the eyes. He's just waiting for the right moment.

And now I am sweating.