I recently had the “pleasure” of celebrating my second anniversary while my cheating shithead of a husband is shacked up with his whore. I am still married so the clock is still ticking on the number of years wedded. Twenty-two years. Twenty-two wasted years.
Last year’s anniversary was much better. The temporary settlement had been negotiated. We were still living in our own house. My kids were at their old schools. I had money. I wasn’t working any job, much less two. I took the kids to Olive Garden and they were convinced that a cute waiter (who was married) was flirting with me. He was not. He was being friendly, which is what you do when you wait tables and work for tips. My daughter bought me some goodies to make up for the fact that I was married to an asshole.
This year I worked from 4 in the morning until around 8:30, 9:00, and then I went to work at my second job and worked from 12-5. Afterwards I did some Christmas shopping. By the time I was finished and ready to pick up my daughter and run a final errand for my mother I was practically limping because my feet hurt so bad.
In the hustle and bustle of working all day I didn’t get a chance to plaster a celebratory message all over Facebook, which seems to be Cousinfucker’s preferred method of communication. Because I have a court hearing coming up I would like to keep my nose clean so instead of wishing him a happy anniversary on Facebook I’ll just do it here. Hey, he doesn’t seem to care whether or not his message reaches his intended audience so why should I?
Happy Anniversary, Cousinfucker! Twenty-two years of marriage to celebrate, although that’s not really true, is it? No, we actually celebrated (if you can call it that) for eighteen years before you fucked up. Our nineteenth anniversary was spent in the shadow of your emotional affair with your fucked up, gold digging whore of a cousin. It was over by then and you swore up and down that it was a mistake and I was the one you loved, but you’re a liar. Even if you had been telling the truth it still wouldn’t have mattered. Our anniversaries were marred from there on out by the fact that it was an anniversary after infidelity. So, we celebrated our nineteenth anniversary, the first one after your affair. And then we celebrated our twentieth, our second one after your affair.
I had high hopes that our twenty-first anniversary would be different and that I wouldn’t think of it as the third anniversary since your affair. But no. You upped your game. You started up with Harley again, sending her money, making life plans with her, lying to me, and then fucking her. You were still living in the house on our twenty-first anniversary, although you snuck away every weekend to spend it with the whore.
Then this year I worked two jobs while you lounged around your whore’s rented house. Did you remember what the day was? Did you buy her flowers? Did you have lots and lots of sex to commemorate the day? Did you go out to dinner or spend the evening in, watching TV? Did you hang out with her kids, the ones you’ve chosen over your own? Did you ever find it just a little bit odd to be sharing yet another anniversary with me while you were shacked up with another “woman”?
Hey, her anniversary is later this month. Maybe you can celebrate both days of broken vows. Whatever you do may I suggest you not pick another December wedding date? That doesn’t seem like a good month for either of you. Plus, that’s the month we celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus and you two are the devil so that kinda puts you at odds with the entire month.