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OH MY GOSH, WHAT SHOULD I WEAR TO THE DEPOSITION?

A deposition is nothing more than a question and answer session given under oath. Don’t lie, they are keeping notes.

Sitting in the hot seat, being required to answer questions based on information that the deviant (almost ex) gave his attorney was going to be unpleasant. I had no problem with the oath because I knew I was not about to lie and once you’ve taken the oath, you may not respond to anything, but the questions asked. I wanted to walk into that room with two attorneys, a court recorder, and the deviant with an outfit that said, “she’s confident, she’s strong, and she’s never going to give up.”

I didn’t know where to find that outfit, or for that matter, what was I looking for? I walked into a Military Post Exchange and right in front of me and there it was! It was a navy-blue knit suit with a pleated skirt and a double-breasted jacket with two rows of mother of peart buttons down the front. It fit like it had been made for me, and the price was perfect. All I needed to complete the outfit was a strand of “hunky faux pearls!”

I was surprisingly calm upon arriving at the opposing attorney’s office. Both of my kids were there as they too had been subpoenaed by their dad – making the whole sordid event a family circus! I was the first one to be questioned, so just in case I said something that could not be verified, the kids could tell the truth. The attorney’s first question was, “are you on any medication that might make it difficult for you to answer?” My answer was, of course, “No!”.

The second question was “where did you consummate your marriage?” I answered the Marine Club in San Francisco and the attorney’s next question was “not Hawaii?” and I answered, “no.” The deviant must have forgotten, something a woman wouldn’t forget. For years the deviant claimed I could remember our first argument. Fortunately, I was wearing my “security blanket”, so to speak, as that question was deliberately designed to unnerve me. It emboldened me and with every nasty question for the next sixty minutes, I thought “YOU S.O.B” before each reply. One of the last questions was purposely included to suggest that the birth of our second baby, born three months premature, was a reason for the marriage to be over. And that baby was now a thirty-two-year-old woman sitting in the SOB’s office, waiting for him to grill her.

Each of us survived the interrogation in one piece, but the deviant gave his attorney the ammunition to grill each of us in the nastiest and most disrespectful way possible. We were left questioning who was that man we identified as our soldier, or my dad, or my husband?

Nancy

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