No More Ms. Nice Guy

A bad break-up is like a boil. Over time it festers when left untreated. You might think it's slowly healing, but if infected, it grows more lethal as the days go by. For a long time, I thought that I was getting better.

But that was when I was in denial. You see, for months, J-Fed had me convinced there was nothing going on with the other woman, in the same fashion that he had me convinced while we were married. While it may have been true during, I'm sure the same can't be said since. There is an old saying, "me thinks thou doth protest too much."

There's not a person that I know who didn't scoff when I explained to them that J-Fed and T.O.W. were "just friends." I'm sure many of those closest to me were convinced that I needed to be committed. I mean, how could there not be anything going on?

As I noticed him spending more and more time just two houses down, the picture was becoming clearer. He was assuming many of the "man of the house" duties. I would see them drive off in the car together or him come to pick her up. Suddenly, the boil was close to erupting.

So after a tumultous weekend and his last request to take my chainsaw to do her yardwork, I couldn't stomach it anymore. I HAD to know the truth. It was Thursday night and I had asked J-Fed to take daughter to the ice cream social. He had agreed. But at the last minute, he explained that there were too many tools in his truck and he couldn't drive daughter.

His request was simple -- I take the kids and he'd meet us there. As usual, he was standoffish. After less than 30 minutes, he had grown irritable because he hadn't eaten all day. He had dinner waiting at home. I snickered to myself wondering who could have possibly whipped up his home-cooked meal. Like any of us needed to ponder that one.