Mazel Tov T.O.W.

Saturday was the eagerly-awaited dance recital of my 6-year-old daughter.

I had bought tickets months in advance. Being the thoughtful person that I am (NOT), I even picked up four tickets for J-Fed -- at his request of course. (And if you happen to be reading putz, you still owe me the $48 for the tickets). I mean, it wasn't like he was going to tricky trot his ass over to the studio and pick them up for himself.

I didn't want to act as an enabler for his irresponsibility, but I knew if he wasn't there for the recital daughter would be devastated to say the least. I purchased eight tickets total, leaving him with plenty. I even kept them in a safe place leading up until the event so he wouldn't misplace, lose or scalp the tickets beforehand. 

Anyhow, like most children, I had to constantly remind J-Fed up until the big day not to forget her recital. Telling him via phone was pointless. What I needed to do was stick a humongous post-it on his back with the date and time, along with the words Kick Me underneath.

Saturday morning arrives and J-Fed shows up at my mom's house to drop off 6-year-old. I was basking in the glow of the summer sun when he showed up. He took the opportunity to make a snide comment about my weight to which I promptly responded by grabbing a bat and beating him over the head. Ok, not really. But wicked thoughts did run through my mind.

"What time does it start again?" he asked.

"6 p.m.," I told him for the hundreth time. How hard was it to remember one friggin number, I thought. But then I recalled how quickly he'd forgotten two words (READ: I Do) and it all made sense. He had a selective memory -- and if it didn't benefit him, he usually couldn't remember jack shit.

J-Fed then informed me he had to scdaddle because he was going to be attending a Bar Mitzvah with none other than T.O.W. (the other woman). Yes, we're calling her the other woman again instead of T.W. (the woman) because that's what she will always be -- the other woman.

Until I see a ring on her finger, a notarized marriage license and the two of them together for more than 10 years, she will continue to be The Other Woman. To earn the title of The Woman, you not only have to act like one, you have to do your time, sweetie. And you have a long ways to go.