Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations by Jessica Vivian Page B

asked.
“She
is,” he said, matter-of-fact as he readied himself to sleep.
That sobered me right up.
What the fuck was I doing? I don't want this guy. I don't want him back. But I felt some sort of sick,
twisted power in the fact that he left her somewhere and spent the
day with me and the kids.
At first I felt like I'd won.
But
then I thought about the fact that this woman felt enough about him
to fly here to visit. And I thought about how much he lied to me and slept with women behind my back. And now I was the woman behind her back. Then I felt like I'd
lost. I felt super gross and super guilty.
I kicked him out and
debated contacting her and letting her know. I knew he wouldn't. Their relationship wasn't my business. But I felt some sort
of moral obligation to warn her that he was a damaged man who would
take her down with him if he let her.
Chris advised me to mind my
business. I ignored him and wrote her anyway.
I knew her name
because he'd told me in passing and I'd Facebook-stalked her. I wrote
the most honest email I've ever written: Hey,
so...I'm his ex-wife and I'm a horrible person. He spent the day with
me for my birthday and I slept with him. I am only telling you this
because I feel so much guilt and shame and I can't believe I
disrespected another woman in this way. I know you spent your money
to fly here and it was dismissive enough of him to leave you alone
all day. I feel disgusting for taking part in it. I'm sorry. I don't
want to come off as a scorned ex-wife or a cock-blocker but, without
knowing you I can still tell you that you deserve better than
that...
Again I'm sorry.
Sincerely,
Jessica Shortly
after, I received a response but, afraid to read the wrath on the
other end of the conversation, I deleted it and blocked her.
    Later
that day she left a comment on my blog saying she'd read the message
and wasn't angry and for me to please email her so we could talk.
I
did.
She shared with me that, indeed, she cared deeply for him to
have traveled so far. As a matter of fact, she thought she was coming
to meet me and the kids because she did think that she was going to be a step-mom.
    However,
upon arrival, she noticed that he was different. He was neglectful
and, in her words, “obsessed” with me. I told her that
was unexpected as he didn't spend much time with his kids anymore and
didn't send any child support anymore. She said he didn't talk about
the kids much but he spent a lot of time lamenting the loss of the
marriage.
I should have felt some sort of satisfaction in this
but really I just felt sad for him.
The entire trip, ultimately,
only served to show her that she has problems with attachment. She
said she'd been in treatment for Love and Sex Addiction before and
this experience inspired her to go back to meetings and get her
boundaries and standards together. She even suggested I find some
groups when I move to Mobile. I said I'd look into it.
We ended
the conversation wishing each other well in our future and vowing
never to give him any part of our hearts or bodies ever again.
It
was, by far, the shittiest and most awkward birthday I've ever had
and just the sour taste needed to shut the door on Tampa once and for
all. The
Wendy Syndrome
    I'm Wendy.
    This particular round of emotional archeology
started innocently enough.
    My oldest and I were watching the 2003
live-action version of Peter Pan. Typically, PG-rated children's
movies based on early 20th century books should not create physical
manifestations of anxiety in one's body. But there I was, watching
aghast, palms sweaty, experiencing a myriad of emotions I couldn't
explain.
    OK, Self, time to pull out the picks and
shovels.
    Later that week, Kelley was razzing me over my
bizarre attraction to Chef Gordon Ramsay.
    "Ewwww! You think Gordon Ramsay is sexy!? He
looks and acts like some bad little boy!"
    I think I found something!
    And later that week I had a discussion with my
ex-husband that made it very clear to me that I was dealing