May You Live In Interesting Times.

After my second divorce, my dating life became interesting. As in the Chinese proverb, “May you live in interesting times.” One of those backhanded toasts that could really be meant as a curse. Like its twin, “May you come to the attention of the authorities.”

I had turned 34 just before I left my second husband, Michael. We had met in law school. He was smart, good looking, & well-intentioned. He loved me, & the sex was, well, nice & dependable. He was a rock. I was not in love with him but I had given up, at that ripe old age, on both the Disney fairy tale & the Hollywood dream. Instead, I saw the world through Carly Simon lyrics: “Just because you don't see shooting stars, doesn't mean it isn't perfect.” So, I proposed to him.

That had actually been our little joke for the 3 years we had dated. I told him early on that I no longer believed in "forever" marriage. He said that, when I was ready, I could propose to him. See? Smart guy. Put absolutely zero pressure on me. So, we lived together ad nauseum, or rather, ad infinitum. It worked for me for years. & then my world went topsy turvy. In other words, life happened.

I lost my grandfather, a man I adored & who adored me. A month later, a close friend was raped & murdered. My career path of choice was looking unattainable. But Michael never waivered. He was a rock, did I mention that? I decided Carly was right, Michael was as good as any girl could ask for &, after three years of living together, I proposed.

The wedding almost didn’t happen. I literally arrived two hours late. In our guest book, my future mother-in-law-to-be, “Oh, Happy Day?”

My issue was that I could not stand up straight for more than a minute without feeling the need to vomit. In my blur, I eventually blamed it all on the amazing pitchers of cosmopolitans a dear friend plied upon many of us the night before. The truth is that I did not want to get married. So, I puked. A lot.

I did, eventually, show up at the event. I did, eventually, make it down the aisle. & we did, eventually, get married. The photos even turned out pretty good considering. Of course, out photographer was incredibly talented. All the photos were all in black and white, so they don’t give away the green tinge of my skin.

For our honeymoon, we went to Belize. This should have been another sign to me that Michael & I were not a good fit. He wanted to go to Belize to scuba dive. He was relentless in his love of diving. We’d been certified together & I liked it well enough. Not enough, however, for it to be the sole focus of my honeymoon. Ever noticed how little meaningful communication actually happens between dive buddies under water? Anyway, we compromised. One week on the mainland actually experiencing Belize & Central America (you know, manatees, jungles, rivers, butterfly farms, orchids & Mayan ruins) & one week of scuba in the cayes (you know, the same day seven days in a row).

I was sick for the first three days. Trust me, Central America is not a good place to have a sensitive stomach. Most “restaurants” serve what the owner is having for dinner that night, soupy chicken, rice & beans, or plantain. Delicious enough but not great for the upset stomach. & most of the bathrooms aren’t exactly somewhere I was comfortable spending any time on the floor. Maybe it was the unfinished flooring or the scorpions.

So that was the start of our marital life. It ended about three years later. By then, we had each ballooned up 25+ pounds. I was working ridiculous hours as an associate for a law firm with a two-hour daily commute. If I wasn’t at the office, I was in my garden from the moment I got home until it was so dark outside I could not see my hand in front of my face. Which is 10 PM in the Pacific Northwest.

Michael was addicted to some video game. The repetitive phrase of the female protagonist in his game of choice (“Is that all you’ve got?”) was so grating, no matter the volume, that I quickly bought him headphones. I never asked him to stop playing, though. Why would I do that?

In our second year of marriage, right before a trip we were taking to celebrate our anniversary, a co-worker/friend asked me to join him in a corporate suite for a playoff game between the Mariners & the Yankees. I had not spent any quality time with Michael in months & was, in fact, spending way more time with this friend than my own husband. When I asked Michael if he’d mind if I went to the game, he said no, not if I bought him the sequel to whatever video game he was obsessing over. I did it without hesitation. When I told my friend the deal, he asked me if I actually wanted to spend time with my husband. Uh, no, not really.

We went on our anniversary trip. I came home & immediately asked my boss for some more time off. I then flew to Boston. I knew nobody in Boston. I wanted to get as far away from the PNW as possible. So I rented a car & drove around the Cape Cod area in winter for a couple of weeks. Michael put a note in my suitcase that he said he "understood." We never talked about why I needed to go so I don't know how he could have understood but, this is the kind of man he was.

I came home & we started couples therapy. In the next two months, I lost 35 pounds. I was literally buying new clothes every week because mine were hanging off of me. My stomach was a mess (maybe you're catching the on-going theme in this story.) There were hospitalizations & tests, & a doctor who told me that I needed to “find God, yoga or start exercising” because stress was going to kill me.

We separated that winter. We got back together when my family came to town for the holidays. I left the day after they did. We had tried counseling, but our marriage was that, since it never was "all that" to begin with.

I began dating a couple of months later. These are their stories. Isn’t hindsight a bitch?

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