Cousinfucker and Harley the Whore got married in Vegas. My mom told me. Isn’t that quaint? The two cheaters made it official. Now the destruction they wrought has purpose.
Can I just say, “Vegas? Really?” On one hand it makes perfect sense. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. It’s all cheap drinks, gambling, and street performers. It’s showmanship and glitz. It’s a mirage. Perfect for cheaters like them. A farce registered at Macy’s and celebrated in Vegas.
On the other hand I can still remember him tearfully telling me that he felt so isolated out west. If he had to stay there much longer he would wind up in the psych ward. Apparently he can get married out there; he just can’t live out there.
As far as I know my kids have no idea their daddy has remarried or that they now have a brand spanking new step mommy and four step-siblings. Rock Star has said nothing so far and if I know her like I think I know her she could only sit on this information for a day or two.
Picasso washed his phone and it no longer works so even if his dad wanted to contact him he couldn’t.
I haven’t said anything because it’s not my news to tell, and frankly, I found this all out just as I was leaving work to go down and surprise the mobster for his birthday. None of us needed a cloud hanging over our heads thanks to CF.
I will also add that while he was all tears and stone faced for his daughter’s graduation, he was smiling in his new wedding pictures. Can’t smile for or with his daughter, but can grin away for a whore.
Honestly, it left me feeling strange for a few hours. As the mobster said, it’s like the final discard. He has completely and totally replaced me with this horrid other person. It was a little weird to think that she was taking over my spot in that family. I suppose I should add legally taking over, because let’s face it, she replaced me a long time ago. That’s really at the heart of it. I was effortlessly replaced and no one said a word. It was as if, despite twenty-one years with him, I had never existed.
Fear not! I don’t want him. I don’t grieve the loss of him. As I said I was on the way to see the mobster and throw him a fabulous surprise 50th birthday party. The mobster is my future. Despite any weird feelings CF’s marriage brought up I know I’m so much better off. I am happier than I’ve ever been.
Them? Well, let’s say I wish them all the happiness they deserve. He’s a man who cheated on his wife. She’s a woman who cheated on her husband. And who cheated on him in the first six months they were engaged in their affair! How much longer can he keep that mask on and convince her he’s a loving family man, a doting daddy to her kids? How much longer can she keep her legs closed to other men? Or refrain from sending naked pictures to other men? How long until she winds up being arrested again for writing bad checks because all that extra money that was so new and exciting is now routine? That’s the crappy thing about pretending to be someone you’re not. Eventually you can’t keep up the charade any longer and the real person comes out. Uh-oh!
Now a new pool will begin. How long will this last? How long until she cheats on him again? Anyone think he will be the cheater once again? Final bet: Will he tell his kids what he’s done, and if so, how long until he does so?