I think of my friend Dave as the patron saint of divorce. Why, you may ask? Well, Dave came to my rescue when my long-predicted-to-end-marriage, ended.
Let me start at the beginning. I was in my late twenties. All, I mean some, of my friends were swept up in the wedding/baby thing and I thought, me too. And no, if they all jumped off of a bridge, I would not jump. But in hindsight, getting married was a lot like jumping off a bridge. And my body is tiny and breaks easily.
I showed up one day at Jane Fonda’s workout dressed in full early-80’s workout gear. I didn’t even exercise, you should know, I just liked costumes, especially the look of those scrunched-up leggings on my ankles. I was there to corner my best friend Stacey, to whom I would reveal and process the secret news. I had to wait until her hardcore class was over. Then I followed my out-of-breath, sweaty girlfriend to the bathroom.
“I think I just got married.”
Stacey stared back at my reflection in the mirror while splashing cold water on her face. “You think.” (more…)