I: Hatred Mutual, 0% Interest
Every man I’ve ever let touch me resents the way I hold a microphone. Seated around a table dripping with beer and hovered beneath dim lights, if any. He looks up slowly from his sip, full of resentment already. A gargoyle allowed in my bed. We lock eyes as my lips part and I wonder how I got here again. Singing to someone like this. When did I piss him off? Back at the apartment when I chose the music for getting ready? How I showered with a wine glass full of my favorite red, twinkling between my fingers? My other wet hand turning the volume up on the side of the phone, not a care in the world or so I thought. I’ll pay for this later. Don’t put the one with ruffles on or the lipstick that’s too dark. The only items that bring you good luck on nights out are your credit card for his tab and the keys so he can enjoy himself while I drive home. The last time I drove, I missed our exit and he said I was the biggest cunt he’d ever met.
He was right.
God forbid I have a good time. Addy said I lost my sparkle when I married, but what she didn’t know is that I was a victim of my own design. My own suffering allowed me to scream about him loudly and point fingers without ever considering how he was my least favorite person in the universe. Craving his disapproval, I believed I was an adversary to his joy.
I was meant to be an ex-wife.