As I was checking my calendar for August this morning, it dawned on me that my ex-husband’s birthday was around the corner.
Even though we’ve been divorced for twelve years, I still remember the date. After being married for 46 years, it’s no wonder the date is still stuck somewhere in the far reaches of my very fine memory. I know I have a great memory as my ex often reminded me, in a not-so-positive way, that I could remember the details of our first argument and I’m sticking to that belief.
For our “last birthday together,” I selected a very nice polo shirt, but I never saw him wearing it, and still haven’t received a thank you note. Just a few weeks later, I would find out that he was in the process of replacing me with his mistress, so no time for good manners; rather like out with the old and in with the new.
He’s turning eighty-one this August and the mistress is now his wife. I am delighted that she is the one buying him gifts and caring for him. I’m thrilled not having to push him in a wheelchair, to seeing his teeth sitting on the bathroom counter, or to hearing his fog-horn nose blowing.
I’m not sure of his current address so I don’t think the birthday card will arrive in time.
Wishing you the best,