One More Thing

J-Fed is still good for one thing... a laugh. Beyond that, you'd have to ask The Other Woman (T.O.W.) what he's good for these days.

Our conversations have been few and far between the last few weeks. I'm not saying there's a particular reason he hasn't been calling me, I'm just saying it's likely because T.O.W. is holding his balls hostage. Although it hasn't been discussed between J-Fed and I, I'm guessing T.O.W. put the big old kabosh on the Fedster's interaction with me. Why do I think that? Because I believe deep in my heart of hearts that she's probably an overpossesive hussy who realizes that if he was talking to her behind my back when we were together, he'd probably do the same to her.

Hey, what goes around comes around. And while the silence has been golden, it was briefly interupted by a call this afternoon.

"What's up, J-Fed?" I got to the point.

"Ok, one more thing and our divorce will be final," he started off.

Um, no, dummy. In case you didn't know, our divorce was final 18 months ago and I have the signed documents to prove it. Even though you never showed up for the hearing, a judge really did terminate our marriage, signififying the end of it forever. The End. There's no sequel to this tragedy baby. what's done is done.

"The divorce is final. You got everything you're going to get," I told him.

"Just one more thing," he pleaded.

Wow. This was sounding far too familiar. Wasn't it just a few months ago that the "one more thing" was our big screen telveision which he proceeded to roll out of our old house right to T.O.W.'s house two doors down. Not only was that the "last thing," it was the last straw. I wouldn't give J-Fed my urine if he was on fire at this stage of the game. Of course, it wasn't my piss he wanted this time around. It was my generator.

"Fuck you. I'm not giving you shit," I said as diplomatically as I could. How coincidental that a tropical depression was brewing off the coast and lame brain thinks I'm going to hand over the generator... 18 months after the divorce. If the generator was that important to him, then he should have fought for it in court. Oh that's right. In order to fight for something, he would have had to get an attorney and he left all the fun to me.

So if I'm going to give him anything, it's going to be a big N to the O, as in NO.

"Geez, Kiki. You don't have to say it like that," he whimpered.

I could just picture he and the other woman huddled around my generator should a hurricane hit. And while Mr. Ex did have his own generator, there was no way in hell I was going to give up mine. For starters, I had already given it to my brother. Secondly, I much more enjoyed the notion of them sitting in a darkened house with no electricty, driving each other completely batshit as they were cut off from the outside world. Now that would be a dream come true for me.

"You're not getting the generator. End of story. I sold it," I told him.

"No, you didn't. I'll buy it off of you," he tried to negotiate.

Does it say Sears on my forehead Mo Fo? I don't think so. This bitch doesn't give any bargains anymore. Like I said before, N to the O. I can sneeze and hit about 10 stores within the vicinity selling generators.

"I told you, I sold it... to my brother. He needs it. Sorry," I snapped back.

"Okay, fine," he responded.

I mentioned the fact that a storm was brewing out in the ocean and pointed out the timing. More than likely, he probably didn't even know what was going on in the tropics. He had more important things to deal with, like figuring out how he was going to get the T.O.W.ster to loosen her grip on his friggin nads.

In the end, he admitted that he needed the generator for work, which was neither here nor there. The favor shop was closed for business, regardless. 

As I hung up the phone, I felt a wave of nostalgia, likely because I'd forgotten exactly how big the Fedster's balls really are. But that's only because T.O.W. probably has them sitting in a locked safe in the back of her closet, never to be seen again.