Dimming of the Dayby Bridget Stuart
It's about this really sweet and lovely gal I know. On this past Fathers Day, she gave a little poolside party for her husband. She invited another family over for this party, made a salad and a cake. She borrowed her husband's car to go pick up pizzas for the dinner, saw a CD on the car seat and popped it into the player.
What she heard felt like amniocentisis performed with a pool cue. Big stab. Something dies inside.
It was song after song about sex and the joys of illicit love--even the campy "I'm Just a Love Machine And I Don't Work for Nobody But You". Songs she knew her husband would never, ever have downloaded for himself in a million years.
And with the pain came certainty: she knew who had given her husband this CD. It was someone she never would have believed could tempt her husband--or anyone--to unfaithfulness. A woman he worked and traveled with. A *married* woman with bulging eyes and a bulky lower jaw in serious need of corrective surgery, who monopolized conversations to the point of provoking desperate exchanges of glances at dinner parties. But still, this homely woman had been having more business lunches with her husband than seemed normal even for close colleagues. And there had been too many quickie trips to meet project donors (paid for with company dollars), trips on which, strangely enough, my gal friend never seemed to be invited along.
My gal pal did some research. She found almost 500 emails between the cheaters from the past three months, revealing lies that originated from the first days of her marriage. Guess what? Her husband who'd often come to church with her and pretended to have a spiritual life? Ding! He's an athiest. Guess what else? The parties she loved to give, cooking and decorating and having lots of friends over for lots of fun, the ones he always pretended to enjoy? Ding! He thinks they're silly and hates to be a part of them. Guess what else? He's been bringing her kids to meet the homely woman, and bringing the homely woman to her house when she's not there, to have sex in her bed, cook in her kitchen, hang around her pool, and just basically pretend to be...her. The homely woman even threw a party at my friend's house when my friend was away. It would be pathetic and sad--the homely woman's attempt to grab my friend's life and make it her own--if it weren't such a violation.
My poor gal pal. She's been married for sixteen years, and now she and the kids are moving back to her home state and starting over. And her husband? Well, he 'doesn't feel good about himself' when he's around her.
Funny. I feel good about myself no matter who I'm around.
Someone once said, "there's no one we hate quite so much as someone we've wronged". My gal pal's husband wronged her deeply, and I'll bet he thinks of it every time he looks at her. This is why he 'doesn't feel good about himself'. Perhaps he has no "self" to feel good about.
Gal pal, I know you're reading this-- all your friends sincerely love you, and you deserve better. You deserve simple respect, decent consideration, basic human kindness. You also deserve to be cherished, smooched, and deeply loved.
The day is dimming where you are, but you go, gal--go far enough to find the sunrise.