I eventually called my parents on Friday evening after numerous glasses of 'dutch courage'. As predicted mum went MENTAL!
Her first words when I explianed to her that my husband of three years had up-and-left me?...
'What have you done Ruby? Oh, Doreen Wilton is going to love this! Her daughter is getting married in the Grand Palace Hotel next weekend, there are 250 going'.
I failed to compute. But this was typical of my mother. All she would be concerned about is what people would think.
'Your father and I will be over first thing in the morning to try and sort this mess out before it gets out of control'.
'NO MUM....' I screamed down the line as she began to blabber on about doing all she could to rescue her good reputation amongst the ladies guild. But i knew she would come anyway, and I was just too exhausted to argue. I opened a fresh bottle of wine and prepared myself for the day to come....
....Not a great idea! I wasn't exactly prepared to be awoken from my drunken unconciousness by my mother thumping rather unpleasantly on my front door first thing.
'GO AWAY' I wanted to shout, but I knew from experience that resistance was futile.
Within minutes my mother was pacing my livingroom while at the same time firing questions at me (while I lay slumped horizontally on the sofa) like a German officer:
-'Why has he left you'?
-'How many people know about this'?
-'Is there anybody else involved'?
As she asked that last one she looked disapprovingly towards me and waited, already certain in her own mind that this was all my fault. I suppose I really should be grateful for small mercies-at least she wasn't commenting on how messy the place was as she usually did!
When I told her that Mark had left me for another woman and had already been spotted at the theatre with said woman by none other than Minty Badminton she began to hyperventilate!
I didn't rush to her rescue.
And my father-who is commonly known to all friends and aquaintances as 'long suffering'-remained seated and silent.
We were used to her. Used to the drama, the coldness, the lack of any thought or feeling for her own flesh and blood.
But still, when I'm already feeling so rejected and unloved, it would have been nice to have a mother who cared about me, rather than just what the society ladies will think.
What can you do?
You'd think I'd have learnt to get over it by now:
Once, when I was about 14, my mother encouraged me to join the tennis club and become friends with the daughter of a wealthy family of 'standing' who also attended. The girl -Ruthie King-was quite spolit and arrogant and not someone I would have chosen to spend time with, but mother was insistant, telling me it would be good for our social standing if I could get us all invited to dinner.
I was hanging out with this Ruthie girl, against my will obviously, in town one Saturday, window shopping and such, when she was stopped by a security guard in a big department store for shop-lifting!
I mean, shop-lifting-with all the money she had! What was the point?
Naive thing that I was back then, I was in total shock, and when she gave the security guard my mothers name and address instead of her own-winking at me as she did-I said nothing, sure that she was going to get into major trouble! And happy to watch on.
But her clever ingenuity paid off! She must have known my mother better than I did back then because after a few crocodile tears she managed to convince my mother that it was in fact I who had lead her into bad ways, and my mother hardly wasted a minute before agreeing that of course a common guttersnipe such as her own daughter must indeed be the rotten apple here!
She actually begged Ruthie not to tell her parents about the episode for fear that they would stop her seeing me! Refusing point blank to even consider that I might be telling the truth when I protested any involvement.
She never even got her invite to the 'big' house because after that day I refused to go near Ruthie and that was the end of her connection to the family, although she did keep trying to wangle her way in-to no avail.
It was after that day that I simply stopped telling my mother anything about my life, knowing that she would only see the worst anyway, and always blame me for whatever went wrong.
We have never been close.
But for some bizarre reason I seem unable to shake her off completely and still have to put up with her constant judgements and desperate need to be 'someone'. It truly is infuriating but why should I have any better luck in my attemps when my father has not managed to shake her off after 35 years! Poor him!
When she eventually managed to calm down enough to speak again my mother declared that the only possible solution was for me to swallow my pride and take my wayward husband back-for the sake of the family!
I could do nothing but laugh!
'How can I take him back you ridiculous woman'? I screeched, cat-like. 'He bloody well left me'!
Thankfully this seemed to shut her up and without any further time wasted in comforting her only daughter my mother trounced out of my house, determined to 'sort' things before 'everyone' finds out! My father toddled behind her with his tail between his legs! I breathed a sigh of relief but the silence she left in her wake has reminded me of just how very alone I really am...
Aug 31, 2009
Aug 28, 2009
Part 6-in which i am almost killed by a tin of Scotch Broth!
The weirdest thing happened to me today.
Well, it was weird until I sat down and thought about it, and then I realised it wasn't quite so weird, just plain bloody annoying! But it just goes to show the length's some people will go to, to get themselves a juicy bit of gossip!
So, I got home from work and realised that I haven't done a shop in almost 2 weeks. I was starving ( it seems my appetite-which did a runner along with my other half-has found it's way back to me-oh joy!) and when I opened the fridge to find some sort of snack to ease my newly reinstated hunger-pangs I was greeted with only an egg -which stunk to high heaven,- a half-eaten tub of mouldy green potato salad and a pack of butter!
Now I'm pretty sure that had I popped these 'ingredients' into a carrier bag and taken them onto the set of 'Ready Steady Cook' the celebrity chef's of the day would have managed to come up with at least 20 different dishes that they could make for me, and every one would have tasted delightful, but I, unfortunately, have always been lacking in the culinery department (could this be the reason Mark has dumped me?) and so I was left with no option. I had to go to the supermarket.
Me and Supermarkets don't get on. I just don't like them. I don't like the fact that I never have a pound coin in my purse for the trolley and so always end up lugging around an over-filled basket, which I have to keep putting on the floor every five minutes for a break. I don't like the way 'they' deliberately put the most expensive varieties in the wrong place on the shelf, with the cheapest price label in front of it-I can almost feel 'them' all sitting in a darkened room above watching me on the in-store security camera with their fingers crossed, whispering repeatedly to themselves 'don't read the label, don't read the label'. Because I never read the label. And I cannot bare the dull, unobtrusive music they play to ease us all into a false sense of relaxation and make us buy things we don't really want or need, purely because we're feeling so chilled out! Add to all that queues and screaming kids and I am transported into my absolute worst night-mare!
But when the cupboard was bare-the hungry woman would do anything!
As I pulled into a parking space in my local Sainsbury's car park I could have sworn I saw a 'friend' of my mothers - Minty Babcock, or Minty Badminton as I like to call her-pulling away in her 4 by 4.
'Thank God', I said silently, thinking that the last thing I needed was to bump into the gestapo in there.
Minty (where do they get these ridiculous names from-I bet a tenner she wasn't christened that) isn't exactly my mother's friend, she's just a woman who is a member of the same baminton club that my mother joined a couple of years ago after my parents retired and bought a nice big detached home on the outskirts of town. Mum has always fancied herself as a bit of a socilate, a bit of a lady who lunches. She's been trying to climb the social ladder for years without much success, and now mixes in circles with the likes of Minty Babcock, who is as fake as a department store Santa and even more of a stuck-up busy-body than my mother has became.
Anyway, there I am, deciding between a frozen chicken dinner for one, or an individual portion of King prawn noodles when from the corner of my eye I spot a figure lurking at the end of the cereal isle, spying on me from behind a box of Special K. I do a double take, thinking that those who may once have been watching me from the darkened room above have taken things too far and are now following me around the floor, sending subliminal messages to me, willing me 'not to read the label'.
I check the price of the Chicken dinner before throwing it into my basket. That's enough of this place for one day I think, and head with haste towards the check-out.
But, just as I'm passing the canned goods section, I swear to God, a tin of Scotch Broth comes flying out from nowhere, hitting me square on the forehead and almost killing me stone dead!
'What the f...'? I scream loudly. But before I can work out what's going on I realize I must be suffering some sort of concussion-induced hallucination because there before me stands Minty Badminton-who I'm certain was leaving the supermarket as I arrived!
She makes sympathetic noises for a moment, pretending not to know who I am. This is no hallucination, I realize, It's actually her.
And then she launches into gushing hugs and kisses as she feign's recognition. Any passers-by would swear we were long lost mother and daughter reunited! Like I said-FAKE! She rarely so much as glances in my direction if we happen to bump into each other, unless I'm with my mother and she's forched to make polite conversation.
I smell a rat!
We make polite conversation for a few minutes...what can I say...? It's the British way of handling things! I'm still feeling a bit confused about the whole episode to be honest...
But then she say's something which helps me to understand exactly what is going on here...
'Gerald and I were at the theatre last night' she volunteers without any build up in conversation.
I think I nodded and said something like 'that's nice'.
Then...
'Don't you like the theatre yourself dear'?
To which I shrug. Where did she get that from-weirdo?
'I don't mind it' I say, not sure where this could be going.
'Oh' dramatic pause. 'It's just that when I saw your husband there with another, er, young lady, on his arm I could only surmise that you mustn't like to go yourself'.
Oh My God!
That's it! I'm caught! Three hours from now and the whole of town will know I've been ditched by my husband after only 3 years of marriage! Not to mention that the first of those to be informed will no doubt be my parents...
Crafty cow! She obviously saw me pulling into the carpark as she was on her way out and decided that she couldn't pass up a MASSIVE gossip opportunity like this and swung around and came back again! Besides, her basket was empty!
What was I to do? Lie, and face up to things at some later stage? Or face the truth, because sooner or later everyone would find out anyway, and when they did they would know I'd been lying.
I decided to bite the bullet-but, -GO ME!- I did it in style.
Faking it good-style, just like she always did, I made sure my whole face radiated with joy when I said:
'Oh Minty, don't tell me you're the last to know! God, Mark and I split up ages ago'.
Then I giggled like a carefree school girl before announcing that I really must dash. As I flounced away from her, trying as hard as I could to hide my solo-chicken meal and the wedding band still gripping my finger, I turned towards her once more and, as casually as I could, I laughed and said:
'I still can't believe you didn't know about that Minty! You must be losing your touch'!
The look of shock on her usually smug face told me I'd managed to get one over on her! YEEHAW!
Well, it's out now, that's for sure. Although if she thinks it's old news Minty might not be so keen to ring around informing her network of nosey parkers!
But no matter what, if Mark's parading around town with his bit-on-the-side stuck to his arm, the news is sure to get out sooner rather than later.
I think it's time to ring my parents...
Well, it was weird until I sat down and thought about it, and then I realised it wasn't quite so weird, just plain bloody annoying! But it just goes to show the length's some people will go to, to get themselves a juicy bit of gossip!
So, I got home from work and realised that I haven't done a shop in almost 2 weeks. I was starving ( it seems my appetite-which did a runner along with my other half-has found it's way back to me-oh joy!) and when I opened the fridge to find some sort of snack to ease my newly reinstated hunger-pangs I was greeted with only an egg -which stunk to high heaven,- a half-eaten tub of mouldy green potato salad and a pack of butter!
Now I'm pretty sure that had I popped these 'ingredients' into a carrier bag and taken them onto the set of 'Ready Steady Cook' the celebrity chef's of the day would have managed to come up with at least 20 different dishes that they could make for me, and every one would have tasted delightful, but I, unfortunately, have always been lacking in the culinery department (could this be the reason Mark has dumped me?) and so I was left with no option. I had to go to the supermarket.
Me and Supermarkets don't get on. I just don't like them. I don't like the fact that I never have a pound coin in my purse for the trolley and so always end up lugging around an over-filled basket, which I have to keep putting on the floor every five minutes for a break. I don't like the way 'they' deliberately put the most expensive varieties in the wrong place on the shelf, with the cheapest price label in front of it-I can almost feel 'them' all sitting in a darkened room above watching me on the in-store security camera with their fingers crossed, whispering repeatedly to themselves 'don't read the label, don't read the label'. Because I never read the label. And I cannot bare the dull, unobtrusive music they play to ease us all into a false sense of relaxation and make us buy things we don't really want or need, purely because we're feeling so chilled out! Add to all that queues and screaming kids and I am transported into my absolute worst night-mare!
But when the cupboard was bare-the hungry woman would do anything!
As I pulled into a parking space in my local Sainsbury's car park I could have sworn I saw a 'friend' of my mothers - Minty Babcock, or Minty Badminton as I like to call her-pulling away in her 4 by 4.
'Thank God', I said silently, thinking that the last thing I needed was to bump into the gestapo in there.
Minty (where do they get these ridiculous names from-I bet a tenner she wasn't christened that) isn't exactly my mother's friend, she's just a woman who is a member of the same baminton club that my mother joined a couple of years ago after my parents retired and bought a nice big detached home on the outskirts of town. Mum has always fancied herself as a bit of a socilate, a bit of a lady who lunches. She's been trying to climb the social ladder for years without much success, and now mixes in circles with the likes of Minty Babcock, who is as fake as a department store Santa and even more of a stuck-up busy-body than my mother has became.
Anyway, there I am, deciding between a frozen chicken dinner for one, or an individual portion of King prawn noodles when from the corner of my eye I spot a figure lurking at the end of the cereal isle, spying on me from behind a box of Special K. I do a double take, thinking that those who may once have been watching me from the darkened room above have taken things too far and are now following me around the floor, sending subliminal messages to me, willing me 'not to read the label'.
I check the price of the Chicken dinner before throwing it into my basket. That's enough of this place for one day I think, and head with haste towards the check-out.
But, just as I'm passing the canned goods section, I swear to God, a tin of Scotch Broth comes flying out from nowhere, hitting me square on the forehead and almost killing me stone dead!
'What the f...'? I scream loudly. But before I can work out what's going on I realize I must be suffering some sort of concussion-induced hallucination because there before me stands Minty Badminton-who I'm certain was leaving the supermarket as I arrived!
She makes sympathetic noises for a moment, pretending not to know who I am. This is no hallucination, I realize, It's actually her.
And then she launches into gushing hugs and kisses as she feign's recognition. Any passers-by would swear we were long lost mother and daughter reunited! Like I said-FAKE! She rarely so much as glances in my direction if we happen to bump into each other, unless I'm with my mother and she's forched to make polite conversation.
I smell a rat!
We make polite conversation for a few minutes...what can I say...? It's the British way of handling things! I'm still feeling a bit confused about the whole episode to be honest...
But then she say's something which helps me to understand exactly what is going on here...
'Gerald and I were at the theatre last night' she volunteers without any build up in conversation.
I think I nodded and said something like 'that's nice'.
Then...
'Don't you like the theatre yourself dear'?
To which I shrug. Where did she get that from-weirdo?
'I don't mind it' I say, not sure where this could be going.
'Oh' dramatic pause. 'It's just that when I saw your husband there with another, er, young lady, on his arm I could only surmise that you mustn't like to go yourself'.
Oh My God!
That's it! I'm caught! Three hours from now and the whole of town will know I've been ditched by my husband after only 3 years of marriage! Not to mention that the first of those to be informed will no doubt be my parents...
Crafty cow! She obviously saw me pulling into the carpark as she was on her way out and decided that she couldn't pass up a MASSIVE gossip opportunity like this and swung around and came back again! Besides, her basket was empty!
What was I to do? Lie, and face up to things at some later stage? Or face the truth, because sooner or later everyone would find out anyway, and when they did they would know I'd been lying.
I decided to bite the bullet-but, -GO ME!- I did it in style.
Faking it good-style, just like she always did, I made sure my whole face radiated with joy when I said:
'Oh Minty, don't tell me you're the last to know! God, Mark and I split up ages ago'.
Then I giggled like a carefree school girl before announcing that I really must dash. As I flounced away from her, trying as hard as I could to hide my solo-chicken meal and the wedding band still gripping my finger, I turned towards her once more and, as casually as I could, I laughed and said:
'I still can't believe you didn't know about that Minty! You must be losing your touch'!
The look of shock on her usually smug face told me I'd managed to get one over on her! YEEHAW!
Well, it's out now, that's for sure. Although if she thinks it's old news Minty might not be so keen to ring around informing her network of nosey parkers!
But no matter what, if Mark's parading around town with his bit-on-the-side stuck to his arm, the news is sure to get out sooner rather than later.
I think it's time to ring my parents...
Aug 26, 2009
Part 5-in which the bunny-boiler returns!
I went back to work today. It wasn't easy but i figured there's only so much Jeremy Kyle and Loose Women a mind can take before it begins to seize-up like an under-exercised muscle. Besides, they won't allow me any more sick pay without a doctor's note and I'm going to need all the cash i can get if i have to buy Mark out of our mortgage!
I haven't told anybody in the office about my 'situation' yet-I'd prefer not to be the main topic of conversation around the water-cooler for a while longer if i can- but i reckon the girls at the desks nearest mine might have worked something out. If not from my panda eye's then definitely from the lack of personal phone calls I've made during the day. They all used to laugh at how often i rang Mark at work, it became a running joke,-my nickname was actually 'bunny-boiler' for a few weeks when i first started! Just harmless fun of course, everyone knows there's nothing wrong with calling your own husband at work, even if it does happen to be 6 or 7 times a day, is there?
Anyway, if they did notice none of them commented. Perhaps they're showing their sensitive sides for once. We'll see how long that lasts...
Office life is as boring as ever. One of the girls-Pamela-is getting married next month. She has been going on about it for ages-you'd swear she's the first person in the world to ever get married!- and is organising her hen night for next weekend. I wasn't really looking forward to it before all this happened, but I'm really dreading it now! I'm furiously trying to come up with an excuse not to go! Why would i want to celebrate marriage? And don't even get me started on the wedding...
I found it really hard to concentrate all morning and kept checking my phone or flicking onto face book to see if i had any messages from Mark. None of course. But i just can't help checking.
Thank God Cass rang and asked if I'd like to meet up for lunch!
We met at a pub just around the corner and, feeling depressed and in need of a treat i had a glass of wine...and dessert! As we tucked into pasta and garlic bread i remembered my note to myself from the other night-to ask Cass what she'd meant when she said Mark had never been good enough for me. She blushed when i brought it up, which was odd, i thought. Cass doesn't embarrass easily. And she was quite snappy in her reply!
'I just meant he's never really been there for you 100%, has he' she bristled? 'And i think you're better off without him'.
Puzzled, i asked her what she'd meant but she brushed me off with some silly story about how, when I'd been too sick to go on this weekend trip to Amsterdam Mark and i had booked years ago, he had left me at home and gone anyway with one of his mates instead. I mean, talk about petty...
'But i told him to' i protested, which was the truth, although i had felt a bit put-out when he didn't refuse. And i still can't work out why I'm defending him now!
'Whatever' Cass replied, as if she couldn't be bothered to talk about it, and then she changed the subject! Maybe she and Dave had had a fight? Maybe there's something in the air...?
Now I'm struggling to get through the afternoon, what with the big lunch and accompanying glass of wine! We're not even supposed to drink during lunch hour and I'm terrified I'll be caught out! I just hope it hasn't loosened my tongue! At some point i know I'll have to admit I'm going through a 'separation', or whatever we call it these days...but i think I'll just wait until there's an even bigger scandal in here to take the lime-light away from me! That's one thing about this place...a scandal is never far away.
I haven't told anybody in the office about my 'situation' yet-I'd prefer not to be the main topic of conversation around the water-cooler for a while longer if i can- but i reckon the girls at the desks nearest mine might have worked something out. If not from my panda eye's then definitely from the lack of personal phone calls I've made during the day. They all used to laugh at how often i rang Mark at work, it became a running joke,-my nickname was actually 'bunny-boiler' for a few weeks when i first started! Just harmless fun of course, everyone knows there's nothing wrong with calling your own husband at work, even if it does happen to be 6 or 7 times a day, is there?
Anyway, if they did notice none of them commented. Perhaps they're showing their sensitive sides for once. We'll see how long that lasts...
Office life is as boring as ever. One of the girls-Pamela-is getting married next month. She has been going on about it for ages-you'd swear she's the first person in the world to ever get married!- and is organising her hen night for next weekend. I wasn't really looking forward to it before all this happened, but I'm really dreading it now! I'm furiously trying to come up with an excuse not to go! Why would i want to celebrate marriage? And don't even get me started on the wedding...
I found it really hard to concentrate all morning and kept checking my phone or flicking onto face book to see if i had any messages from Mark. None of course. But i just can't help checking.
Thank God Cass rang and asked if I'd like to meet up for lunch!
We met at a pub just around the corner and, feeling depressed and in need of a treat i had a glass of wine...and dessert! As we tucked into pasta and garlic bread i remembered my note to myself from the other night-to ask Cass what she'd meant when she said Mark had never been good enough for me. She blushed when i brought it up, which was odd, i thought. Cass doesn't embarrass easily. And she was quite snappy in her reply!
'I just meant he's never really been there for you 100%, has he' she bristled? 'And i think you're better off without him'.
Puzzled, i asked her what she'd meant but she brushed me off with some silly story about how, when I'd been too sick to go on this weekend trip to Amsterdam Mark and i had booked years ago, he had left me at home and gone anyway with one of his mates instead. I mean, talk about petty...
'But i told him to' i protested, which was the truth, although i had felt a bit put-out when he didn't refuse. And i still can't work out why I'm defending him now!
'Whatever' Cass replied, as if she couldn't be bothered to talk about it, and then she changed the subject! Maybe she and Dave had had a fight? Maybe there's something in the air...?
Now I'm struggling to get through the afternoon, what with the big lunch and accompanying glass of wine! We're not even supposed to drink during lunch hour and I'm terrified I'll be caught out! I just hope it hasn't loosened my tongue! At some point i know I'll have to admit I'm going through a 'separation', or whatever we call it these days...but i think I'll just wait until there's an even bigger scandal in here to take the lime-light away from me! That's one thing about this place...a scandal is never far away.
Aug 25, 2009
Part 4-in which i sing 'my heart will go on...'
Ugh! I've woken up today feeling terrible. My head is throbbing so hard it must be visible to the naked eye. Or is that my heart? I'm so confused and fuzzy-minded it's difficult to tell.
The girls came over.
After my phone-call from Mark on Friday i rang my best mate Cass, who, although shocked at what i had to tell her, didn't seem as surprised as i was that my marriage was over. I couldn't quite work that one out.
Cass rang Lola and within the hour they had arrived on my doorstep armed with supplies of Vodka and wine, and enough chocolate to resolve the third world's hunger crisis (if only it's nutritional content were of any benefit- obviously).
Lola rubbed my back while i wept openly like a child, and Cass kept my glass topped up so that i didn't get thirsty from all the tears and talking. We all called Mark a bastard. They're such good mates.
Telling them about being dumped was so embarrassing, especially since Cass has been married to a really great bloke called Dave for what seems like forever, and Lola has a different rich and handsome fella on her arm every weekend!
But that's what mates are for, they reassured me, and after a while (and a few voddy's) i began to feel better.
'He was never good enough for you' Cass told me as she began to catch up in the alcohol stakes. I wasn't sure what she meant by this: I'd always thought all my friends loved Mark as much as i did! And though I'm sure i asked (something tells me i may have been quite repetitive in my enquiries), i was way too drunk to remember what her reasons were! I must make a note somewhere to ask her that question again when we're both sober.
Lola blurted out at some point that relationships are for losers and even Cass, being the great friend that she is, agreed with her! I think we all toasted to it actually!
The girls stayed over (there was talk of hitting a club but, flaked out on my living room floor at about 2.30, we all decided that we are way too old for that sort of thing and topped up our glasses of what i think had sometime ago turned into wine). I woke fully dressed and still lying on the floor at sometime on Sunday afternoon! There were chocolate stains all over my t-shirt.
It felt strangely liberating to wake up a mess, on the living-room carpet, surrounded by the girls! It had been a long time since those days and memories of my teenage years came flooding back. Since meeting Mark i had always made sure to clean off my make-up before bedtime, and always made sure i got into the right bed! I had somehow, without noticing it was happening, become sensible. I had become old!
We ordered take-away and the girls stayed over again. They refused to leave me alone at the weekend. I was so grateful to them because i knew Lola must have blown off a hot date and that Cass would surely be missing Dave! There's no way i could have spent a whole weekend away from Mark! Well, when i had a choice i mean!
Sunday night was a tiny bit more civilised. The girls wanted to know what i was going to do now...about the house, about the other things Mark and i had shared...about getting a divorce...
But i didn't want to talk about any of it.
Instead i got drunk again! And sang the songs from movies like Titanic and Dirty Dancing! Then i called Mark a bastard some more. Then I tore up some pictures i found in a drawer of me and Mark on holidays last year! And then i vomited! Does that mean I've got him out of my system now?
Cass and Lola went home yesterday morning, with sore heads admittedly, but back to their lives, back to normal.
I cried myself to sleep with a glass of vodka in my hand and woke up soaked in the stuff and feeling like this. Ugh!
I'm grateful for the interlude but it didn't change anything...except that i now have a broken heart and a throbbing head! Ugh!
The girls came over.
After my phone-call from Mark on Friday i rang my best mate Cass, who, although shocked at what i had to tell her, didn't seem as surprised as i was that my marriage was over. I couldn't quite work that one out.
Cass rang Lola and within the hour they had arrived on my doorstep armed with supplies of Vodka and wine, and enough chocolate to resolve the third world's hunger crisis (if only it's nutritional content were of any benefit- obviously).
Lola rubbed my back while i wept openly like a child, and Cass kept my glass topped up so that i didn't get thirsty from all the tears and talking. We all called Mark a bastard. They're such good mates.
Telling them about being dumped was so embarrassing, especially since Cass has been married to a really great bloke called Dave for what seems like forever, and Lola has a different rich and handsome fella on her arm every weekend!
But that's what mates are for, they reassured me, and after a while (and a few voddy's) i began to feel better.
'He was never good enough for you' Cass told me as she began to catch up in the alcohol stakes. I wasn't sure what she meant by this: I'd always thought all my friends loved Mark as much as i did! And though I'm sure i asked (something tells me i may have been quite repetitive in my enquiries), i was way too drunk to remember what her reasons were! I must make a note somewhere to ask her that question again when we're both sober.
Lola blurted out at some point that relationships are for losers and even Cass, being the great friend that she is, agreed with her! I think we all toasted to it actually!
The girls stayed over (there was talk of hitting a club but, flaked out on my living room floor at about 2.30, we all decided that we are way too old for that sort of thing and topped up our glasses of what i think had sometime ago turned into wine). I woke fully dressed and still lying on the floor at sometime on Sunday afternoon! There were chocolate stains all over my t-shirt.
It felt strangely liberating to wake up a mess, on the living-room carpet, surrounded by the girls! It had been a long time since those days and memories of my teenage years came flooding back. Since meeting Mark i had always made sure to clean off my make-up before bedtime, and always made sure i got into the right bed! I had somehow, without noticing it was happening, become sensible. I had become old!
We ordered take-away and the girls stayed over again. They refused to leave me alone at the weekend. I was so grateful to them because i knew Lola must have blown off a hot date and that Cass would surely be missing Dave! There's no way i could have spent a whole weekend away from Mark! Well, when i had a choice i mean!
Sunday night was a tiny bit more civilised. The girls wanted to know what i was going to do now...about the house, about the other things Mark and i had shared...about getting a divorce...
But i didn't want to talk about any of it.
Instead i got drunk again! And sang the songs from movies like Titanic and Dirty Dancing! Then i called Mark a bastard some more. Then I tore up some pictures i found in a drawer of me and Mark on holidays last year! And then i vomited! Does that mean I've got him out of my system now?
Cass and Lola went home yesterday morning, with sore heads admittedly, but back to their lives, back to normal.
I cried myself to sleep with a glass of vodka in my hand and woke up soaked in the stuff and feeling like this. Ugh!
I'm grateful for the interlude but it didn't change anything...except that i now have a broken heart and a throbbing head! Ugh!
Aug 21, 2009
Part 3-in which he wants to talk....
You'll be proud to hear i didn't cave in. I managed to resist the urge to pick up the hand set and dial his oh-so familiar number.
I didn't have to.
He called me!
If I'm honest I'd have to say it was looking like i was going to call him. By 6.30pm I'd already downed two and a half glasses of red wine and was perched animatedly on the edge of the sofa with the remote control in one hand and my phone in the other.
'When 'The Simpson's' is over I'm gonna do it'! I had affirmed aloud, although i really had no clue what Homer and Co. were up to in this episode, so lacking in concentration as i was, just before the shrill 'brrrriing' of the land-line pierced my thoughts.
His mobile number showed up on the screen and i froze. I swear i stopped breathing for at least a minute! In my anxiety i switched the volume on the television up to 'full' by mistake, and, as i hit the answer button on the receiver and said 'hello', Mark was greeted with a chorus of the theme from the 'Itchy and Scratchy Show'. It used to make him laugh.
'What the hell's going on there?' were his unexpected first words. Not exactly what i had been hoping for.
I explained that it was nothing, just the telly. My heart skipped a beat. His voice! It was so real, so familiar. It was as if I'd been waiting my whole life to hear it.
'Ruby-we need to talk'
Of course we did, i agreed. And relief flooded through me like a river bursting through a weak damn. At last he had come to his senses! I'd always known he would. He was my Mark and i knew him better than anyone. Thank God it was all over!
But then he threw me a curve-ball.
'We're going to have to decide what we'll do about the house' he seemed to be saying.
In my mind i was answering. 'Well, we'll live in it of course-or were you thinking we could move?. But i didn't speak.
'Ruby, i can't afford to keep paying half of the mortgage there and pay rent here. Do you want to sell up, or buy me out'?
And they were my choices laid bare. As simple as that. After five years together, three years of marriage, we had somehow come to this. And the choices really weren't mine.
He was going, there was nothing i could do. And although it didn't make any sense-suddenly it did make sense!
God! It's over!
He agreed to allowing me some time to think-how very gracious of him!
I hung up the phone and took another big slug of wine.
I had held off from name calling for too long now...it was time to ring the girls.....
I didn't have to.
He called me!
If I'm honest I'd have to say it was looking like i was going to call him. By 6.30pm I'd already downed two and a half glasses of red wine and was perched animatedly on the edge of the sofa with the remote control in one hand and my phone in the other.
'When 'The Simpson's' is over I'm gonna do it'! I had affirmed aloud, although i really had no clue what Homer and Co. were up to in this episode, so lacking in concentration as i was, just before the shrill 'brrrriing' of the land-line pierced my thoughts.
His mobile number showed up on the screen and i froze. I swear i stopped breathing for at least a minute! In my anxiety i switched the volume on the television up to 'full' by mistake, and, as i hit the answer button on the receiver and said 'hello', Mark was greeted with a chorus of the theme from the 'Itchy and Scratchy Show'. It used to make him laugh.
'What the hell's going on there?' were his unexpected first words. Not exactly what i had been hoping for.
I explained that it was nothing, just the telly. My heart skipped a beat. His voice! It was so real, so familiar. It was as if I'd been waiting my whole life to hear it.
'Ruby-we need to talk'
Of course we did, i agreed. And relief flooded through me like a river bursting through a weak damn. At last he had come to his senses! I'd always known he would. He was my Mark and i knew him better than anyone. Thank God it was all over!
But then he threw me a curve-ball.
'We're going to have to decide what we'll do about the house' he seemed to be saying.
In my mind i was answering. 'Well, we'll live in it of course-or were you thinking we could move?. But i didn't speak.
'Ruby, i can't afford to keep paying half of the mortgage there and pay rent here. Do you want to sell up, or buy me out'?
And they were my choices laid bare. As simple as that. After five years together, three years of marriage, we had somehow come to this. And the choices really weren't mine.
He was going, there was nothing i could do. And although it didn't make any sense-suddenly it did make sense!
God! It's over!
He agreed to allowing me some time to think-how very gracious of him!
I hung up the phone and took another big slug of wine.
I had held off from name calling for too long now...it was time to ring the girls.....
Aug 20, 2009
Part 2-in which i wonder what Jeremy Kyle would say...
So it's been a week. Who'd have thought a week could feel so long? For the last ten years or so-since i was old enough to realise each day counts- each and every week of my life has wizzed past me faster than a greyhound chasing a stuffed Rabbit, but not this one.
I'm not sure how i got through it.
But it seems i did.
I'm not sure i can face another one though...
I haven't really left the house all week. I went into work for the first couple of days but it was just too hard to get up and face people after spending every night crying, screaming or just lying motionless for hours staring up at the ceiling (and the loose light fitting that he never got around to fixing since the day we moved in...).
I called in sick mid-week. It was easier than having to explain why i suddenly look like a drug-addict.
Technically i figure it isn't really a lie-i am sick-love sick or sick of life, or something like that. Take your pick.
I still haven't told anybody he's gone. I just can't bring myself to! What if he comes back? Then i'll just look really stupid won't i? Why bother humiliating myself if it can be avoided? I'll just give it a few more days...
Besides, i know my parents will just say 'we told you so', and my friends will call him names i'm not sure i really want to hear yet. It's what i always do when friends break up.
My resolve about not calling him is slowly weakening too. I mean, if he is going to come back surely one of us needs to break the ice? We're in limbo at the moment and he's probably feeling really silly. If i can just get him to talk to me i'm sure he will realise it's all just been a mistake and we can go back to how we were. Someone has to make the first move don't they?
I'm sitting here now watching crappy day-time television wondering if i should call his mobile and tell him i forgive him. I mean, looking at what some of the guests on the Jeremy Kyle Show have been up to makes him seem like an angel! But would Jeremy agree? Or would he tell me i'm worth more than that...?
I feel like an alcoholic trying not to have a drink. It's all i can think about! Well, him, not drink, obviously.
If every day is going to be like this surely i should save myself years of torture and just give in now and call him...
I'm not sure how i got through it.
But it seems i did.
I'm not sure i can face another one though...
I haven't really left the house all week. I went into work for the first couple of days but it was just too hard to get up and face people after spending every night crying, screaming or just lying motionless for hours staring up at the ceiling (and the loose light fitting that he never got around to fixing since the day we moved in...).
I called in sick mid-week. It was easier than having to explain why i suddenly look like a drug-addict.
Technically i figure it isn't really a lie-i am sick-love sick or sick of life, or something like that. Take your pick.
I still haven't told anybody he's gone. I just can't bring myself to! What if he comes back? Then i'll just look really stupid won't i? Why bother humiliating myself if it can be avoided? I'll just give it a few more days...
Besides, i know my parents will just say 'we told you so', and my friends will call him names i'm not sure i really want to hear yet. It's what i always do when friends break up.
My resolve about not calling him is slowly weakening too. I mean, if he is going to come back surely one of us needs to break the ice? We're in limbo at the moment and he's probably feeling really silly. If i can just get him to talk to me i'm sure he will realise it's all just been a mistake and we can go back to how we were. Someone has to make the first move don't they?
I'm sitting here now watching crappy day-time television wondering if i should call his mobile and tell him i forgive him. I mean, looking at what some of the guests on the Jeremy Kyle Show have been up to makes him seem like an angel! But would Jeremy agree? Or would he tell me i'm worth more than that...?
I feel like an alcoholic trying not to have a drink. It's all i can think about! Well, him, not drink, obviously.
If every day is going to be like this surely i should save myself years of torture and just give in now and call him...
Aug 19, 2009
Part 1-The beginning, where he tell's me it's the end...
He says he doesn't want to be married to me anymore!
He says he doesn't love me anymore.
I'm not really used to him talking about his feeling's to be honest, so the whole thing has come as quite a shock. To say the least...
It's been almost a week-6 days, 2 hours and 34 minutes to be precise-since he announced over a Chicken Chasseur that i don't make him happy anymore and that he's managed to find someone else that does.
At first i just thought it must be some sort of idiotic joke! You know the sort that men find funny, and that make women cry? Not that he was given much to joking around-well, not lately anyway.
But my startled brain could find no other reason for him to say such things. And so i swallowed down the lump of dry poultry which had lodged itself awkwardly in my throat, took an extra large swig of red wine and began to laugh. All the while keeping my eye's fixed firmly on his face.
I noted that although i was creased up with laughter, his expression remained unfaulteringly serious.
'You're serious' i said, once i had managed to compose myself and knew it to be true. He nodded.
That's when i cried.
I have been crying for the last 6 days, 2 hours and 45 minutes. In between sleeping and long periods of not eating. He has long since gone. I tried to stop him...
'But we're married' i screamed, as my poor brain began to slowly absorb what he was actually saying.
'I'm unhappy-i don't want to be married anymore'
Well I've been unhappily half-a-stone over-weight for the last 18 months and i don't want to be anymore but i can't just get up and leave myself, can i? -i thought!
'Is it because I've gotten fat?' I asked, distraught.
He shook his head.
'You're not fat Ruby. I just don't love you anymore'. -A glimmer of hope...he still finds me attractive!
'I'll forgive an affair...in fact i don't even want to know about it,...just please, please don't leave me...'
I know, i know, begging is never attractive, but what could i do?
That's when he got up to leave and i noticed the suitcase waiting by the front door ominously, like a brown paper package left unattended in a train station.
He was really going to do this, he was actually going to leave me.
We hadn't even finished the Chicken Chasseur!
I know i said a few lines ago that begging is never attractive but when you're desperate you'll try anything...and i was desperate. I won't go into too much detail-i cringe at the very thought of my behaviour when i think of it now to be honest!-but suffice it to say that there was actual grabbing of clothing and much snot mixed with my abundant tears. Not my finest hour!
It didn't work.
He still went.
Bastard!
At least that's what i call him in my angrier moments.
Other times I'm so filled with love for him that i cannot begin to blame him for what he has done. During those periods i manage to convince myself that I'm the one to blame-i let myself get too fat, i sometimes refused to have sex with him, i stopped saying 'i love you' in bed at night. But then, so did he...
It takes all the strength i have left (and believe me i was only a weakling to begin with) to stop myself from calling his mobile at least a million times a day. It's only the fear that SHE might be the one to answer which holds me back...
So here i am. Thirty one years old, back to square one.
Alone.
So what am i gonna do now...?
He says he doesn't love me anymore.
I'm not really used to him talking about his feeling's to be honest, so the whole thing has come as quite a shock. To say the least...
It's been almost a week-6 days, 2 hours and 34 minutes to be precise-since he announced over a Chicken Chasseur that i don't make him happy anymore and that he's managed to find someone else that does.
At first i just thought it must be some sort of idiotic joke! You know the sort that men find funny, and that make women cry? Not that he was given much to joking around-well, not lately anyway.
But my startled brain could find no other reason for him to say such things. And so i swallowed down the lump of dry poultry which had lodged itself awkwardly in my throat, took an extra large swig of red wine and began to laugh. All the while keeping my eye's fixed firmly on his face.
I noted that although i was creased up with laughter, his expression remained unfaulteringly serious.
'You're serious' i said, once i had managed to compose myself and knew it to be true. He nodded.
That's when i cried.
I have been crying for the last 6 days, 2 hours and 45 minutes. In between sleeping and long periods of not eating. He has long since gone. I tried to stop him...
'But we're married' i screamed, as my poor brain began to slowly absorb what he was actually saying.
'I'm unhappy-i don't want to be married anymore'
Well I've been unhappily half-a-stone over-weight for the last 18 months and i don't want to be anymore but i can't just get up and leave myself, can i? -i thought!
'Is it because I've gotten fat?' I asked, distraught.
He shook his head.
'You're not fat Ruby. I just don't love you anymore'. -A glimmer of hope...he still finds me attractive!
'I'll forgive an affair...in fact i don't even want to know about it,...just please, please don't leave me...'
I know, i know, begging is never attractive, but what could i do?
That's when he got up to leave and i noticed the suitcase waiting by the front door ominously, like a brown paper package left unattended in a train station.
He was really going to do this, he was actually going to leave me.
We hadn't even finished the Chicken Chasseur!
I know i said a few lines ago that begging is never attractive but when you're desperate you'll try anything...and i was desperate. I won't go into too much detail-i cringe at the very thought of my behaviour when i think of it now to be honest!-but suffice it to say that there was actual grabbing of clothing and much snot mixed with my abundant tears. Not my finest hour!
It didn't work.
He still went.
Bastard!
At least that's what i call him in my angrier moments.
Other times I'm so filled with love for him that i cannot begin to blame him for what he has done. During those periods i manage to convince myself that I'm the one to blame-i let myself get too fat, i sometimes refused to have sex with him, i stopped saying 'i love you' in bed at night. But then, so did he...
It takes all the strength i have left (and believe me i was only a weakling to begin with) to stop myself from calling his mobile at least a million times a day. It's only the fear that SHE might be the one to answer which holds me back...
So here i am. Thirty one years old, back to square one.
Alone.
So what am i gonna do now...?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
