J-Fed Has Left The Building

Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face…

In probably the most shocking turn of events EVER, J-Fed left me. Yes. He. Left. Me. Now, it wasn’t that I hadn’t asked for a divorce more times than I could count. I just always figured that he’d do the right the thing, and, well, change.

I mean, I wasn’t asking much. Help around the house. Be accountable for your actions. Spend some time with us as a family. Spend less time at local watering hole. Show some interest in me. And lastly, don’t piss in the frigging armoire. I told him we could try and work through things, but there were going to be some ground rules.

And I’d surmised he didn’t like the sound of them. J-Fed figured it would just be easier to leave and start a new life.

“I don’t make you happy, and I never will,” he said, trying to sound genuine.


Translation: I’m not willing to change anymore for you. This is the part where the folks in the audience shout “Cop out!”

It’s become quite apparent that J-Fed and I are at two very different points in our lives. I’m consumed by raising two children, trying to succeed in my career and enjoying life in general. J-Fed, on the other hand, is more interested in getting a fresh start, becoming a better man and a better father. Of course, this will all be done from a better place, an apartment right down the street where Kiki can’t nag him.

Translation: I’m interested in focusing on myself.

I guess I eventually realized it would all come to this. And if it didn’t it would have come down to some sort of nasty manslaughter charge when I’d “accidentally” spill a box of ant killer in his Shepard's Pie. So I guess his leaving was definitely the lesser of the two evils. Of course, we all know nothing is every easy, and this surely wouldn’t be.

For starters, there’s the deposit on the apartment. Kiki opens purse and extends checkbook. He’s out on his own, a free bird while I tend to the kids, the dogs, the house and spend the bulk of my time wondering how He. Left. Me.

It’s never easy eating humble pie, but this time I will have to. And I’m fine with that. Do you know why? Because the Fedster has already started his predictable M.O.

“Kiki, can we put a weight bench on the Sears card? I’d really like one for my new apartment?”

“Kiks, will you go grocery shopping with me so we can get all of the basics for my apartment?”

“Kiki, how about if you go furniture shopping to help me pick out a bed suite?”

Hello, J-Fed. You’re not going off to college and I’m not furnishing your dorm. You’re leaving me, and in case you didn’t get the memo. That means I’m no longer your slave nor am I your mother.

If you want something for your new bachelor pad, GET IT YOURSELF. You’re your own man now. You no longer need my permission for anything. You’re free. That’s right. Free to make your own mistakes, and even freer to clean up the mess yourself.

I know. I know what you’re thinking. Is he out of his ^&*( mind? And I believe the answer might be yes. I’ve surveyed many of my friends and asked them “was I really that bad?” And they’ve all maintained that no, I wasn’t.

Regardless, J-Fed is moving on. I’ve offered to let him take things from around the house. Of course, the first thing I tried to pawn off on him was the armoire. How fitting. For some strange reason, he didn’t want it.

Anyways, I wish J-Fed the best of luck in his new endeavors.

In the meantime, I’ll be sitting back wondering how He. Left. Me.

P.S. If you’re worried this is the end of the saga, brace yourself. It’s only the beginning.