February 4, 2000
Cue: Tammy Wynette
David called me at work last Friday morning.
"Well," he said
simply. "I'm divorced."
I immediately wrote to my pal Feef. "We're no longer committing adultery!" I crowed. "Now we're just living in plain old garden-variety sin!"
(I vaguely remember saying the exact same thing twenty-some years ago, when the balding aluminum sales guy got his divorce. Funny, the recurring patterns in our lives.)
She wrote back:
" ... 'garden variety' sin?..........heck -- all you need is some Bleu Cheese dressing on top! (insert Willie Nelson here):
I wanted to sing! I wanted to shout! I wanted to broadcast the news over the company P.A. system ... not to mention the Internet!
(I wanted to put my phone on "Do Not Disturb" and run the ten blocks to the Oakland Tribune Tower, dressed in nothing but a raincoat ... and a smile!)
But I had to curb my glee with a little maternal levelheadedness. At least, temporarily. The girls had flown in from TicTac the night before, and I was distracted with making dinner plans and buying Polaroid film and drawing little maps of the Alameda/Oakland bus system. I knew we had a busy, Tot-intensive weekend ahead of us.
So the *celebrating* -- and the raincoat -- would have to wait for a few days.
So of course the obvious question is ... what now?
Am I shopping for wedding dresses and waffle irons, effective immediately?
I know that David and I are partnered for life. Ours is the singularly most secure, committed relationship either of us has ever had. (And of course it happened when neither one of us was really "looking" for it. It's like the TV commercial I saw for e-greetings.com this morning -- "I spent my whole life trying to find love, and then love finally reached out and found ME.")
I know that eventually I'm going to have to change the last name on my checks. We've talked about it, almost from the very beginning.
But I'm willing to wait until everything is right.
Next time I get married, I want things to be perfect ... or as close to perfect as possible. Basically, I want everything I didn't get the first time around. A real proposal, for one thing: preferably something silly and romantic, when I'm least expecting it. Flowers. Music. A dress that didn't cost $17.00 on a JC Penney's clearance rack. A real honeymoon, involving real suitcases and real room service (and as little *real sleep* as possible).
And most of all, I want to know what it feels like to be deeply, profoundly, madly, passionately, crazily in love with the person I'm married to. I'm looking forward to that more than anything, I think.
It will be a brand-new experience for me.
But I also want David to have something that I DID have, and that's a little time, post-divorce, to get used to the idea of not being married anymore. Because regardless of the people or the circumstances or the amount of legal silliness involved ... regardless of how long you were married, or how long it took to become un-married ... it's still takes some time to process the fact that -- in this particular instance, anyway -- "til death do you part" no longer applies.
So for the time being, things stay just the way they are. SecraTerri and DRaftervoi continue to blissfully share a rental agreement and a toothbrush holder ... if not a last name.
Now if you'll excuse me ... I need to look for a raincoat.