The divorce process is ugly and gut wrenching, not to mention time consuming. First off, there is the daily stalking of your ex and the drunk texting, which will eat up most of your nights. There are the hours spent putting all your ex’s stuff on the front lawn and then carrying it all back in when his attorney sends you a cease and desist asap letter. Then there are state mandated counseling sessions to help you explain what is happening to your children, as apparantly sitting them down at the table and saying “Children, your father has left us for a Swiss pastry chef,” (forget about the hair and body, who can compete with that?) is not the recommended approach. Sorry kids. Oh well, it’s nothing therapy won’t fix later. Of course, there are the countless meetings with your attorney and accountant; it really is a true learning experience. Here is what it taught me: I am one broke beeeeyach.
My final meeting with the beloved Madison Pierce went something like this:
“You will be receiving an alimony check every two weeks in this amount.”
“Great! I guess there is a special account set up for me to withdraw from on the other days?”
She laughs as if I’m kidding. Then gets this really weird look on her face, when she realizes I’m not.
“This is it, this is what you are to live on each month.”
“Oh stop, you are too funny. Really, stop.”
“Fine,” I countered. “I still have my black card for emergencies,” (aka: Pilates, manis, pedis, botox and the occasional Restylane.)
“Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t look it. “That account has been terminated as agreed upon in mediation. Don’t you remember? We went all through this at mediation.”
Ah yes, mediation. I have a vague recollection of sitting in a conference room alone with MP*, and a pudgy woman coming in and handing us a paper with a proposed settlement on it. I sort of remember reading it and then screaming things such as “mother fucker,” and “I will kill that piece of shit,” and then a big man coming in and saying I had really upset the secretaries and if I was not able to calm myself they were going to call the police. The next thing I remember is sitting at Macaroni Grill, being treated to lunch by MP* and her saying, “So that went pretty well, I think.”
I know the most obvious solution is for me to get, well some type of…job. Here’s the thing, I’m a Jewish girl, married at 19, with four kids by age 30. There is only one kind of job I am familiar with and that was only during my early dating years and on wedding anniversaries. Sorry, but that ship has definitely sailed.
Okay, so here I am. This story doesn’t end happily, with me opening up a little coffee shop, and becoming the hottest place in town, or making fanastic cupcakes that people just can’t get enough of. It basically ends here with me watching reality TV, eating Cheezits, and planning my next move, which hopefully will not be to a double wide.
* Madison Pierce