A Letter to Future Ex-Wives
By ringfingertanline on February 29, 2012
For the last six months, I have been an official member of the ex-wives club. And by that I mean I made my own club, which really just consists of me having a weekly meeting with my good friends ice cream and self-pity.
Divorce ain’t like summer camp, my friends. You don’t get a welcome letter into your new life or a mentor with a high-pitched voice (unless there is something I am being seriously left out of). And you know what? Those things would have actually been very helpful.
I’d love to have my own ex-wives club. It would be like the First Wives Club, only without the horrifying white pant suits and karaoke version of “You Don’t Own Me.”
So for all of the ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, ex-lovers out there – here is a welcome letter, from me to you.
I am sorry to snatch you into my club under such terrible circumstances, but glad that you are here.
From this moment on, please expect that everyone you have ever met will act fucking crazy around you. Do not be alarmed. This is normal.
Most of them have heard your news indirectly, and will feel the need to text and let you know they are here for you. Especially if you haven’t spoken for three or more years. During this time, I ask that you refrain from punching any babies or purchasing knives.
You will then experience a brief blackout period lasting anywhere from two to twelve months. You will likely never remember what happened in these months because if you are smart, you will be heavily sedated.
At all stages, be sure to stay away from social media. You don’t need to know that your ex got laser hair removal and a nose job to feel better about himself post-breakup. It will only leave you thinking how you would have rather waxed his chest yourself and performed surgery on his testicles instead of his nose.
Follow these tips, and when you’re ready to stop crying embarrassingly in public, I will be so very glad to meet you and help you scout out new prospects. Assuming, of course, we don’t share similar taste in men.
Until then, do all the venting you want to your diary. Because in all likelihood, your mom stopped listening weeks ago.
Very sincerely yours,
**Editor’s Announcement: Go look at my new “Favorite Recipes” tab. I put a lot of hard work into making those damned links work and you guys are going to click them whether you like it or not. Kthanks.
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