I Will Survive!

In survival mode, I resorted to the tactics I'd employed as a Miserable Wife. When Lars had acted horribly, had embarrassed me, had disparaged me in public, had humiliated me, I'd smiled and carried on. Why let the habitual grouch ruin every joyful moment in my life with his inexcusable behavior?  Why let anyone rain on my parade?  Why forgo all that is important to me and wallow in self-pity when I could smile and laugh and enjoy myself?  If Lars - and now Scott - wanted to marinate in their own pathetic, insecure cess pools of social isolation and misery, I had no need to dive in and join them.  I'd thrown a life line. If they chose not to grab the monkey fist, fuck 'em.

I parked my car practically giddy with anticipation.  This was going to be a fun event, in spite of the baggage I'd dragged along in the trunk of my car. My dress was perfection. My hair was sexy.  My perfume divine. My legs rivaled Tina Turner's. 

I walked with my pretty clutch and my envelope to find the mother and father of the bride.  Placing the envelope in Dad's hands, he led me by my other hand to a gaggle of men at the the beer tent. Introduced me to them all and asked the bartender to treat me like royalty. The stage was set.

But when I caught up with the MOB and our other dear  friend from High school, they both immediately knew something was not quite right. My smile betrayed me.  They asked questions.

I matter of factly explained Trudy's flair up and Scott's need to care for her. And then explained less matter of factly how it had all happened. The MOB rolled her eyes and shook her head on her way to the Wine Bar.

The other friend took my face in her hands and looked into my eyes and said, "I know."

She knew. She knew what I was thinking.

She knew that I was thinking that the ghost had been given up. In one small tip of the hand, Scott had shown me his soul.

The handsome 18 year old who had dated his way across three counties in two states had not evolved into a charming man with the maturity and depth to carry a long term relationship with someone as soulful and sincere as me.

He was still the same 18 year old, with the same immaturity and the same inability to have a meaningful conversation about anything that actually matters. When push came to shove, he'd push his way out.

And again, as in so many instances with Lars and with J. I was all dressed up with no man on my arm, no one to dance with, and no one to call my own.