Flava Flave Out

A woman I know is getting divorced.  Well, her husband is divorcing from her.  He blindsided her after 20 years together, 16 of them wedded. I am angry for her and I am sad for her but more than that I am excited for her and hopeful for what she will be without him.

I know divorce is hard, but I think regret is harder.

Today I took a nap and I had a dream that the girl he (the husband) has been cheating on her with (because of course, he is) was insanely tall and predictably vapid with platinum blonde hair in a harshly-parted pixie cut. She was, despite her stature and chiseled features somehow not at all model-like or beautiful, and she appeared to work as an attendant at some kind of water park.

I woke up smiling because I would be endlessly amused if this is accurate. I hope it is.

I hope this human Scooby-Doo left his gorgeous, articulate RN wife, who is soon to have her PhD in Psychology, who is also a brilliant painter, journalist, and radio personality, for a thinner, less-worn (for now) albeit easily as difficult to understand when she speaks [even though English is her first language] version of mid-2000s Brigitte Nielsen.

He deserves that.  He deserves at least that.

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I guess all the good ones are taken.

 

One thought on “Flava Flave Out

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