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Wednesday, 22 May 2013

The Wife Replies

A "network" recently posted a blog post that was brash, tacky, thoughtless andSamantha Brick-ish!  Even the Daily Fail would have published something with more meat on the bone.
brash 1  (brsh)
adj. brash·er, brash·est
1.
a. Hasty and unthinking; impetuous.
b. Rash.
2. Lacking in sensitivity or tact.
3. Presumptuously forward; impudent. See Synonyms at shameless.
Anyway, quite a few of us were stunned by the post and not stunned into silence either.
I didn't bother to comment as I knew it would be deleted, but yet I wanted to reply in some way, so I thought I would write a post in a similar hurried shallow style to theirs.  Speedily written with no thought for the reader, but this time a reply from the wife.
OBVIOUSLY it does not reflect real life, as there is clearly more depth to the emotions of all concerned, which is not reflected in their [the network's] post or mine.

The pain of infidelity can, and does, go on for decades, as I know only too well, with my Uncle having had to give me away at my wedding, with my Dad having dropped out at the 11th hour.  My Mum and him had not met in 20 years, and my wedding clearly wasn't the place to do so.  Fo similar reasons he was not at my 21st birthday party.  When a marriage breaks, the cracks often last a lifetime.

Anyway, here is my fictitious reply from the wife.  We will never know if the post it replies to is fictitious or not........ but we all have our opinions on that.
Despite the post being so contentious I would link to it, if it was worth the paper it was written on, or if it was published with a little more thought.  There are not even links at the bottom, to resources for people who may have been effected by the post - EVEN the Soaps do THAT!

I am not a writer so don't be expecting a masterpiece
******
 
Have you considered that I may not care?
 
Me, and the three kids… When he is around, we are on tippy toes. I have to be an interpreter, a translator, a keeper of the peace. Sometimes the kids take to their rooms, under the pretense of homework, and me to the soaps, or the washing up. Sometimes a distraction is simply a long-distance phonecall that I have to take.
 
He lost us years ago. 


The day he started speaking with his mouth and not his heart. The day he showed more warmth to strangers than his own family. 

Yes, he lives here. Yes, he is Daddy. 

Yes, he strikes a pose in all of the right family photos, and turns up at the right places at the right time, nearly all the time.
 
But, we know we have lost him and him us. He seems to have found a new hobby, or interest. I don’t believe that he suddenly needs to do longer hours.

 
I should be curious. I suppose I ought to ask what it is that is taking up his time. What it is that is making him have a spring in his step, but I am too busy focusing on the spring in mine to notice the spring in his.
The kids have extra curricular things going on more or less every day of the week. By the time I get in, get dinner on, homework coordinated, baths, bedtimes, there is barely time to down a glass of wine, let alone wonder where HE is.

 
All I sometimes briefly notice, is that things are calmer when he is not around. Nobody fighting over the TV channels. All of us understanding each other, no translations needed. More importantly, no shouting. Sometimes I don’t notice. Him not being there is so normal, that I notice the shouting, but I don’t notice the lack of it.


I guess I should be grateful that he works, and brings home the bacon, but that is where his contribution to the family ends. I don’t feel any emotional support from him. In fact, I feel like a single parent, and it is single parents that I gravitate to.


I wonder when he talks about us, what does he say? He can’t list off all of our milestones, when he’s missed so many of them. Even when we have family holidays, you can tell that although he is physically present, mentally he is elsewhere.

 
The angry outburst kind of stopped when he got a smartphone. I think when he discovered Twitter. He thinks I am a technophobe and that I don’t “get” social media, but little does he know that I have been blogging for 6 years, and that I am one of the people he chats to on Twitter. We’ve even DM’d each other, so I do know about his secret “liaisons”. I choose not to care. The woman he has taken up with is so arrogant, to me, they deserve each other. If she keeps him out of my sight occasionally I applaud her for that, but she is not the person keeping us together, I am.

 
I could have thrown him out years ago, but for my own reasons I choose to stick with the status quo. That is my prerogative. I don’t feel anything towards her, not even pity. To me she is a non-person, with as little emotional intelligence as I have ever seen. Persona non grata.

 
She thinks she is his first. I follow her too on Twitter. She thinks she has burst his extra marital cherry. Oh how wrong you are lady. THAT I think is what amuses me the most.

 
If he ever decides to leave me for her, I’ll be shocked, but no, I won’t shed a tear.

 
It is his life that will be the lesser for leaving, not mine. I left him emotionally a long time ago. To me he is just a paying lodger.

 
One day, the truth might come out, regarding his liaisons, but for now I am raising a family, and THAT is what is important.


*** 

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2 comments:

  1. That was a truly powerful and emotional post, and very well written. And that 'other post' did get me wondering if it was fictitious - it seemed so over the top in its callousness. And I think you have made a really good point - why wasn't there any support lines of help to anyone affected by reading it - the post was clearly going to push a lot of buttons. I am not sure it was really thought through before it was published, especially the type of site it was being published on.

    Ps. So true about the wife/mother not caring, she has enough on her plate to worry about. There are more important things to care about...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hmm, fab a really interesting read. I think we all wondered why on earth that post got published. Mich x

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