You’d think he would have figured it out by now. He being the ex, very lovingly referred to in our household as “Mr. Dumas” (as in Dumbass). It being that I just don’t give a shit about his excuses.
My day had already started to fall apart. Mostly because of my horrible attitude as of late, but also because…well, okay, fine. My horrible attitude. Anyway, I can usually keep my cool with Mr. Dumas, having learned a few years ago that everything I do and say is a reflection of my character in the court and also a test of my own patience and action/reaction skills. I play nice now. Even when he’s hurling insults at me and telling me I’m a money-grubbing, pathetic excuse for a mother because I created a broken home for “our” child, I play nice. Even when he tells “our” child that I’m only using her to get money out of him, I play nice. Even when he calls me for the umpteenth time to cry about how his stellar Master’s degree in Physics prevents him from getting any kind of job worthy of his academic background, I play nice. And laugh, because how can I possibly get money from someone who has no job?
Today’s phone call registered as number umpteenth + 1, the number of times he’s called to whine about not being able to find a job.
“It’s a tough market out there,” he said.
“Fuck you,” I said back.
“What?” he said, a little shocked that my sympathy cup hath runneth dry.
So I repeated myself. Again. And again. And again. He kept trying to nudge into my rant, like he was cutting in line or something and that pissed me off even more. This called for more – “Fuck You“. I lost count of how many times those two words flew out of my mouth. The red light at New Berlin Road kept me stationary for a minute or two, resulting in more naughties than you could imagine spewing from my lips.
Boy, you done pissed me off.
At some point I stopped, but only long enough to hear him threaten me with more legal action. He asked me if I was prepared for a legal battle. Another legal battle. I reminded him that he’s already dumped my sorry ass into the debt pool, so what’s one more go-around? Then he felt compelled to tell me about his wonderful new lawyer. He works pro bono.
“And he’s Jewish!”
Huh? What does that have to do with anything?
Mr. Dumas and I. We went back and forth, up and down, east to west, north to south, roundabout, and back around again. All the while, the little slips jerked off my tongue (“Fuck you!!!”), and I’d take a deep breath just so I could say it again, and louder. With more ooomph! Because a pissed-off single mom dealing with a deadbeat dad has alot of oooomph. Then it was over.
Twenty seconds later, I was in my daughter’s school parking lot and shaking from so much adrenaline. Wow. Did I just hold all that in for the last three years? Did I just get three-years’ worth of “Fuck You!” out of my system in a matter of minutes? Why, yes! Yes, I did! And, dammit, it felt good!! I almost can’t wait to do it again!
But I must go back to playing nice now. It was fun while it lasted and I deserved the enjoyment it gave me. Countdown to October 28, 2012.