Do You Ear What I Hear?

The ghosts of Christmas past paid me a visit early this year.

It was the fifth day of Christmas when I eagerly rushed to the mailbox to see if Santa had brought me anything good. I wasn't expecting five golden rings, but there was always the off chance that something miraculous might appear... like a check from the Publisher's Clearinghouse.

Ok, so I wasn't that lucky. However, I did experience a sense of shock and awe when I stumbled upon a small card addressed to Kiki and J-Fed. I had received a flurry of holiday cards this year. However, they had all been made out to the girls and I. By now, every one knew about the divorce and they were careful enough to make their greetings out to the people that really count.

As I stared at the envelope, I felt much like a widower who received a piece of mail addressed to her dearly departed, except for one thing. J-Fed wasn't dead, unless you count in my mind. And while those women were sad, I surely was not. I held the small card in my hand, wondering who on God's green Earth could have been so cruel this time of year. If someone wanted to punish me, they should have just dropped a lump of coal on my doorstep.

But oh no, this was far better. I took a deep breath and opened the mystery card.

J-Fed and Kiki,

Hope you have a happy anniversary.

Love,

Bob

Wow. Suddenly I felt like I got the wind knocked out of me. You see, I had forgotten that the anniversary of my trainwreck marriage was fast approaching. Whether consciously or sub-consciously, I had failed to realize the impending day was just around the corner. And here was good old Bob to remind me of everything I'd try to erase from my mind.

So you might be wondering who Bob is? Family member? Friend? One of the guests from our destined-to-be-doomed wedding? Oh no, this was far better. Bob was the asshole who sold my ex-husband those glittering $5,000 earrings last Christmas, just two months before the twat moved out. You must be asking yourself "Kiki, how could someone buy you such a lavish gift and then less than 60 days later want a divorce?" To this, I would reply, "No, silly. It wasn't 60 days later that he wanted a divorce -- it was actually less than a month later. It took another 30 days to get his ass out of the house." Such was the madness of King Fed.