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In advance of taking the children to his place for the weekend, their father ate dinner with us not long ago.
I’ve come to enjoy those times. He seems to look forward to being here more than he ever did when we were married, perhaps because family time is no longer a daily expectation.
I take those opportunities to fix a nice dinner, one that does not include “nuggets” as any of the ingredients. That night I made chicken, potatoes, salad and fresh fruit. The weather was fine, the children were behaving, the food was delicious, everyone was having a pleasant time — until the boy, seated next to me, sent his plate flying off the high chair and directly at me.
I dodged the plate but gasped in surprise, which managed to lodge a shred of chicken in my throat. I coughed, I choked, and eventually I had to leave the table so as not to gross out the rest of the family as I retched helplessly.
“Are you ok?” the ex asked as we cleaned up the dishes later.
“Yes,” I answered, voice hoarse from coughing. “It’s just my gag reflex. It’s gotten so sensitive lately. If anything so much as touches it, I’m done.”
“Hm,” he said, giving me an almost playful look, “Then I guess we split up at exactly the right time.”
This is but one small measure of how far we’ve come. We can enjoy a family meal in peace and then joke about blowjobs while cleaning up the kitchen.
If only we could have done this well during the marriage.
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