If god wanted me to be nice, she shouldn’t have invented sarcasm
I’m someone’s ex. Ex-partner, ex-girlfriend, and most significantly, ex-wife. That, in and of itself, doesn’t make me a terrible person. Except today, I completely forgot that I was already married. Is that bad?
Today, in a random conversation about relationships, I shared minor pleasantries, and in my vague retelling of my partnering history (mere acquaintances don’t deserve the juicy parts of my life), I realized I had forgotten almost 10 years of my life. I didn’t leave it out. I just forgot it.
It wasn’t even a horrible marriage. We were college sweethearts who grew into incompatible adults. We’ve both moved on. But I almost felt wistful about not being able to flip through a mental scrapbook to say, “That was part of my life and good things came out of it.” Nope, no kodak moments. No Celine Dion song to score what was, at the time, one-third of my life.
So, I don’t have lasting memories. I’m luckier than most in that at least I don’t have horrible memories, right?
Wait. Something good did come out of that first marriage, something that I cherish to this day, that brings me nothing but comfort and joy. Every night, it holds me in its soft embrace, smoothing out the rough edges of my day, making sure I can head out into peaceful slumber.
It’s the comfort food of couches. It’s been discontinued, so it’s all I’ll have left of that furniture store that has gone out of business. And of course, my first marriage. I’ll cherish it till death, or bedbugs, do us part.