Despite the many lessons my mother failed to impart to me, I am absolutely certain that she did manage to teach me that no good can ever come from snooping.
She taught me…but the lesson didn’t stick.
Upon finding my stb-ex’s computer throbbing with life the other day and him out of the house for several hours, of course I looked at it.
Of course I did. I had to. Right?
I found many … um … unique things. Items of interest. Oddities.
The man is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. Surrounded by layers of subterfuge. Dunked in obfuscation. Topped with a gooey-thick frosting of mendacity.
But aren’t we all?
Here’s the part that totally gets my goat–and I assure you that it’s hard to get my goat. My goat roams freely, ungotten by most. Multitudes of people have tried to get my goat over the years but they almost always fail. My goat scampers away happily, untouched, unharmed, unperturbed.
But this man…he gets my goat.
I told my friend this short tale, and he reminded me that neither hate nor irritation is the opposite of love. He reminded me that I eventually will be indifferent to the antics of this man. I hope he’s right.
But now, I can be nothing but agitated, agitated and angsty and annoyed that he had the audacity to describe me to one of his little girlfriends as “incapable of trusting the men in her life.”
Incapable of trusting the men in my life?
Wha?
Me???
I beg to differ! I am perfectly capable of trusting the men in my life. At least, I am perfectly capable of trusting those men who have shown themselves to be trustworthy.
I completely understand the urge to have a comfortable story to present for public consumption. We all need our unconvoluted tales to tell prospective partners, else things like this happen.
But wouldn’t it make more sense to explain the failure of a marriage in a way that at least touches on some element of the truth? As I’ve learned over the years, the very best lies are the ones closest to the truth.
Say that I was too demanding in the expectation that he would help more around the house. Say that I failed to communicate my desires clearly enough to him. Say that I got upset too easily. Say that I expected feats beyond the capabilities of mortal men in the bedroom. Say that I snored, or passed gas, or was not attractive, or smelled of sweat. Each one of those was at least sometimes true. Why make up something when the truth would be so very convenient?
Or…does he honestly believe that I have trouble trusting men? Is that how he sees me?
It’s no matter. It shouldn’t affect me. But still, it hurts (really quite a lot, truth be told) that the man I hoped would love me and know me more than any other is so very wrong about me.
Incapable of trusting men. Gah.
.
