Chapter One
Meredith
So
Long, Snoozefest
Sandy
Moon sounds like the name of a party chick. Confident and sassy, she'd be
someone people gossiped about on Monday mornings. Oh, did you hear what Sandy
Moon got herself into last weekend?
In
reality, Sandy Moon was my husband for seven years. As of a month ago, he's
officially my ex-husband.
"It's
not the seven year itch, Meredith," he said on the day he asked for a
divorce.
"Huh?"
"Like
the Linda Ronstadt song."
"Rosanne
Cash," I corrected. "And the song was Seven Year Ache ."
"You'll
be fine," Sandy said, patting my hand as if I was a dog he never wanted.
I
replay the conversation in my head a lot, each time reacting differently.
Sometimes, I yell. Sometimes, I cry. Occasionally, I fantasize about beating
him to a pulp.
In
reality, I only nodded. When Sandy claimed we didn't need lawyers, I knew he
was scared of my parents' law firm. We divorced amicably with me keeping the
house and most of our savings. Through the entire process, I feel nothing. I
want to believe I'm in shock, but I doubt it.
"You
were bored," my little sister Bethany says one day at lunch. "You
were sleepwalking and hadn't woken up. It's why you didn't slap that bitch
silly."
Bethany is impulsive and often stupid when it comes to men. With Sandy, she is spot on.
"I'll
survive this," I say as we eat lunch.
"You
were married to the most boring man in the entire fucking world," Bethany mutters, dangling a fry from her lips like a cigarette. "And he dumped you
for being too dull. Survive that, daddy's favorite."
The
day Sandy and I signed the divorce papers, I still craved a reason to be hurt. I
wanted to feel something about my failed marriage.
"Was
it another woman?" I asked.
"No,
Meredith. I told you that night. I can't waste my life any longer. I need to
live, not simply exist. Our life is tedious. I know you can't feel how boring
it is, but our life is suffocating me."
I
did feel our dull life. I simply wasn't as weak as my banker turned wild man
ex-husband. I accepted the boredom and chose not to whine. Now I am divorced.
"What
comes next?" I ask Bethany and our best friend Maria Zulma during another lunch
at our favorite cafe.
"You
need to let loose," Zulma announces. "Stay up late, don't shave your
legs, get drunk, and find a man that'll make your toes curl."
Bethany snorts. "If you want to catch a sexy bastard, shaving your legs will probably
come in handy.
Nodding,
Zulma laughs. "Yes. Very true. You have those long legs. Wax them up
really shiny then go to a bar and attack a real man. No more weak losers like Sandy. Get a man who doesn't sneeze around animals or giggle when he hears the word
pussy."
"Zulma
isn't wrong. Those giraffe legs will draw you plenty of attention in a bar. You
find one hot guy and make no promises. Hell, no names. Just go wild and fuck
until you forget you wasted ten years on a douche.
"Ten
years," I say, thinking back to when I met Sandy in college. "I knew
he was the one that first day. The perfect boring husband."
Bethany rolls her bright blue eyes. "You need to let loose and I have the perfect
guy."
Flash
forward to the Monday after my first blind date. The experience is a reminder
that my little sister harbors a deep-seated hatred for me.
"He
was awful," I tell Bethany at a coffee house. "He smelled
weird."
"That's
his pipe. Or his bong. I can't remember what he was into."
Bouncing
her son Alejandro, Zulma laughs. " Beth Anytime gave you her sloppy
seconds. I hope you didn't catch anything."
I
share Zulma's smile while Bethany shrugs. She's never minded her slut nickname.
I often suspected she either started the nickname or at least helped spread it
around our high school.
"Isn't
there a way for me to cut loose without dating someone gross?"
"Why
date?" Bethany asks. "Why not party? You spent all that time with a
dull ass schmuck. You'll need to fuck a lot of wild men to wake up your bored-to-death
pussy."
"Poetic,
twerp."
Bethany grins.
Meredith
So
Long, Snoozefest
Sandy
Moon sounds like the name of a party chick. Confident and sassy, she'd be
someone people gossiped about on Monday mornings. Oh, did you hear what Sandy
Moon got herself into last weekend?
In
reality, Sandy Moon was my husband for seven years. As of a month ago, he's
officially my ex-husband.
"It's
not the seven year itch, Meredith," he said on the day he asked for a
divorce.
"Huh?"
"Like
the Linda Ronstadt song."
"Rosanne
Cash," I corrected. "And the song was Seven Year Ache ."
"You'll
be fine," Sandy said, patting my hand as if I was a dog he never wanted.
I
replay the conversation in my head a lot, each time reacting differently.
Sometimes, I yell. Sometimes, I cry. Occasionally, I fantasize about beating
him to a pulp.
In
reality, I only nodded. When Sandy claimed we didn't need lawyers, I knew he
was scared of my parents' law firm. We divorced amicably with me keeping the
house and most of our savings. Through the entire process, I feel nothing. I
want to believe I'm in shock, but I doubt it.
"You
were bored," my little sister Bethany says one day at lunch. "You
were sleepwalking and hadn't woken up. It's why you didn't slap that bitch
silly."
Bethany is impulsive and often stupid when it comes to men. With Sandy, she is spot on.
"I'll
survive this," I say as we eat lunch.
"You
were married to the most boring man in the entire fucking world," Bethany mutters, dangling a fry from her lips like a cigarette. "And he dumped you
for being too dull. Survive that, daddy's favorite."
The
day Sandy and I signed the divorce papers, I still craved a reason to be hurt. I
wanted to feel something about my failed marriage.
"Was
it another woman?" I asked.
"No,
Meredith. I told you that night. I can't waste my life any longer. I need to
live, not simply exist. Our life is tedious. I know you can't feel how boring
it is, but our life is suffocating me."
I
did feel our dull life. I simply wasn't as weak as my banker turned wild man
ex-husband. I accepted the boredom and chose not to whine. Now I am divorced.
"What
comes next?" I ask Bethany and our best friend Maria Zulma during another lunch
at our favorite cafe.
"You
need to let loose," Zulma announces. "Stay up late, don't shave your
legs, get drunk, and find a man that'll make your toes curl."
Bethany snorts. "If you want to catch a sexy bastard, shaving your legs will probably
come in handy.
Nodding,
Zulma laughs. "Yes. Very true. You have those long legs. Wax them up
really shiny then go to a bar and attack a real man. No more weak losers like Sandy. Get a man who doesn't sneeze around animals or giggle when he hears the word
pussy."
"Zulma
isn't wrong. Those giraffe legs will draw you plenty of attention in a bar. You
find one hot guy and make no promises. Hell, no names. Just go wild and fuck
until you forget you wasted ten years on a douche.
"Ten
years," I say, thinking back to when I met Sandy in college. "I knew
he was the one that first day. The perfect boring husband."
Bethany rolls her bright blue eyes. "You need to let loose and I have the perfect
guy."
Flash
forward to the Monday after my first blind date. The experience is a reminder
that my little sister harbors a deep-seated hatred for me.
"He
was awful," I tell Bethany at a coffee house. "He smelled
weird."
"That's
his pipe. Or his bong. I can't remember what he was into."
Bouncing
her son Alejandro, Zulma laughs. " Beth Anytime gave you her sloppy
seconds. I hope you didn't catch anything."
I
share Zulma's smile while Bethany shrugs. She's never minded her slut nickname.
I often suspected she either started the nickname or at least helped spread it
around our high school.
"Isn't
there a way for me to cut loose without dating someone gross?"
"Why
date?" Bethany asks. "Why not party? You spent all that time with a
dull ass schmuck. You'll need to fuck a lot of wild men to wake up your bored-to-death
pussy."
"Poetic,
twerp."
Bethany grins.
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