that’s so ridiculous! i can’t even wrap my brain around the idea. and why me the worst? because i don’t beat around the bush? because i say what i mean? because i want what i want?
truth be told, i’m a pathetic OW. i couldn’t even seal the deal. couldn’t TAKE what i so desparately wanted. couldn’t “even the score.”
and why? NOT becuase i didn’t want Mister, Mister enough… but because I thought more of someone else than i did of myself/my needs.
if sacrificing MY NEEDS, for the good of someone else, makes me the WORST OW ever… than GUILTY AS CHARGED.
(but, hey, you’d at least think i’d have gotten some really hot, hot sex out of the deal… )
Every five or six years, my mother guilts me into joining the extended family for a week-long vacation.
(NOTE: guilt is a horrible thing– made even more horrible-er-er when mixed with a pinch of stinginess, a strong dose of negativity, and one f*cking giant wallop of general mean-spiritedness)
BTW, just in case any of you are dying to know, my daughter is rude– and getting fat– and i’m “really starting to show my age” and should make an appointment with a dermatologist PRONTO.
(i feel pretty, oh so pretty… )
And, if any of you are thinking, ‘oh c’mon… it couldn’t have been all THAT bad,” I give you TRUE GRIT: an original breakfast story–
On our very last day together at the beach house, my mother got up early to make a huge pot of homestyle grits. Not only did she use the very last of my half-n-half (BITCH!) in her grits, but when she finished cooking, she proceeded to have the following conversation with my father and sister (while I’m sitting just two feet away on a kitchen stool– very much awake, and very much present in the room, after having said my round of good mornings):
MOM: “Daughter #1, would you like some grits?”
Daughter #1 [MY SISTER]: “Of course, I’ll get them…” [MOVING TO GET GRITS HERSELF]
MOM to Daughter #1: “Don’t move!… I have everything right here.” [proceeds to dish out and take piping hot bowl of grits to D #1]
MOM to my DAD: “May I bring you some?”
DAD [shaking his head at such a ridiculous question]: “Well, yeah!” [mom takes bowl to my dad]
IGNORES ME. PROCEEDS TO MAKE BOWL FOR HERSELF. SITS DOWN AT TABLE.
DAD [feeling bad that I'd been SO totally ignored]: “Contessa, didn’t you want some grits?”
Contessa: “Yes, I can get them for myself, thank you dad.” [proceeds to get grits for self]
And that pretty much sums up my week of vacation. Now, please excuse me while i go phone my doctor– the psychologist (NOT to be confused with the dermatologist).
Returned to running today; a full two-weeks AFTER the good doctor gave me the OK to run again. Today, it just felt RIGHT. Besides, my shoes have been begging me to go outside… and I just couldn’t let ‘em down.
Speaking of shoes, my fave running shoe is on the endangered list (shoe is being discontinued). So, today I ordered a back-up pair (even tho this current pair only has a little over 100 miles on ‘em).
I’m actually a little teary-eyed about the whole thing. I mean this was THE SHOE. An honest-to-god match made in heaven. My SOLEMATE…
I’m getting a new washing machine delivered tomorrow. Old machine crapped out. Was leaving some weird oil-like spots haphazardly all over what was supposed to be my clean clothes. Nasty stuff. And, wouldn’t you know, it always managed to show up on my favorite whites… always.
Wish me luck in washing out all of my “trouble spots.” And I do mean ALL of my trouble spots!
I’m losing it. no, really. I’m unhappy with the things that I should be happy with– and sad about the things that I should be grateful for. Pretty f*cked in the head, right?
I heard Sheryl Crow’s song on the car radio– the one about the secret to life being “not getting what you want, but wanting what you have.” I swear, I almost had to pull over to the side of the road and puke.
Maybe I’m just sick of life. I don’t really feel depressed, per se. But today, on my way home from work, I was a little spooked. I was driving a little fast (like 85mph FAST) while approaching a concrete divider that veers sharply to the left. Instinctively, I braked. At the same time, for a split second, I found myself wondering what it would be like to just hit the wall– FULL SPEED. To just be done with “things.” Honestly, that thought scared the living shit out of me– as in, where the hell did that thought come from?… and why?
It’s not a secret that I’ve never fully recovered from my husband’s infidelity. And, I’d be lying if I didn’t fully admit to wanting to “mess around” with an old boyfriend I crossed paths with last spring. You see, somewhere, in my screwed up head, I’d convinced myself that I had a “license to cheat.” And damn, if I didn’t try hard to use that “free pass” on Mister, Mister.
Then, last August, when things started to heat-up between us, I put the brakes on. Firmly. Told Mister, Mister some bullshit excuse about how much my husband loved me, and would do anything in the world for me. And I’m still not certain, to this day, WHY I stopped myself.
Well, ok, that’s not entirely true. What stopped me, most certainly, was the promise I had made to myself to NEVER hurt another female the way I’d been hurt. In other words, I didn’t want Mister, Mister’s wife to ever feel about her husband the way I feel about mine. I never wanted to be that woman who made her question her whole existence/world. That woman that made her sob herself to sleep at night. That woman that made her question her seemingly wonderful husband’s character till the day she died. That woman who made her think about crashing her car into a concrete highway block– on some random, f*cking hot day in early June– because her head was so messed up…
Yeah, that woman.
And yet, knowing all that– and having the clarity to write it all down– I still want her husband.
Ok, so I lied. I didn’t actually delete all your e-mails. I kept one. The very last one…
Today, while re-reading it, I got to thinkin’: if I was able to inspire you to be good, maybe– just maybe– I could inspire you to be bad. ‘Cause who knows… maybe a little badness is just what you need.
Besides, you know what they say about goodness:
“Goodness is its own reward… for more tangible outcomes, you need to try badness.”
And you know, it’s not just me that has options. We could, after all, both opt to be bad. C’mon, it’ll be so good… and tangible.
1 Comment | 
Mister, Mister, about me, hate, life, love, relationships | Tagged: cheating, guilty, guilty as charged, hot sex, infidelity, Mister, Mister, other woman, OW, slut sandbox, TOW, worst other woman | 
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Posted by Contessa Confessa
