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Quite by accident, I stumbled across a posting made by my soon-to-be ex-husband on a dating site message board.
How did I know it was from him, you ask? Oh I knew. There was no doubt in my mind but that it was his posting.
In it, he described what he was looking for in his desired partner. The person he spoke of was as unlike me as a woman could be while still being a member of the same species. Not surprising, that.
I’ve long known the type he favors, so that part of the message was not particularly offensive. What did offend me, however, was the ending of the message. It offended me even though I knew that it shouldn’t. It offended me even though I pride myself on being damn near un-offendable.
What was in the message’s ending that got under my skin? The stb-ex made reference to the fact that he had recently broken free from a wife who was entirely “vanilla.”
Vanilla. Vanilla. Me?
Scenes from our marriage flashed before my eyes. I saw times without number that I had suggested ropes or toys or positions or activities, all of which he utterly refused even to consider. And yet he called me vanilla?
I was bursting with annoyance. I had to share my ire with another person. Fortunately my wonderful friend D was available. He listened to me rant for a number of minutes, then read the posting in question.
His response was exactly what I needed to hear. He said, “You are all vanilla with your threesomes, toys, sex blog and all! I looked up ‘prude’ in the dictionary and there you were! Well, I think it was you…your face was buried in someone’s pussy.”
Thank you, D, for making it all better. What are friends for if not to assure us that we’re not as vanilla as our stb-exes might like to think?



