The other day an old friend called, asked how I was doing.
“Married? Kids?” Dan inquired.
“Divorced. Cats.” I replied.
You know, growing up I believed I could be anything. One crisp and crunchy fall, fascinated by the change of seasons, I decided I’d become a scientist. My life’s work would be to explain why birch leaves turn from green to yellow, (the answer of course being that they were magic). At times I also fancied becoming a librarian, a novelist, and a grocery store clerk—the latter of which inexplicably intrigues me to this day.
When I was 15, I decided I’d become a World Traveler. I applied for, and was accepted into the Rotary Youth Exchange, a highly competitive program that thrusts goody-two-shoes like me into the far reaches of the earth. In my case, that meant Japan. Konnichiwa.
When I was 19 I worked the halls of the United States Senate as an intern for the Alaskan Senator, Frank Murkowski, and shortly thereafter I became the first graduate of Wasilla High School to attend a small college in Blacksburg, Va. called Virginia Tech.
I always believed I could be whatever I wanted because my parents never let me know any better. Not once did they place limitations on me … except for that time I declared I was going to be a nun. Impossible! they said. Mostly because we weren’t Catholic.
One thing I never wanted to be was divorced. Truth be told—though he forced my hand, refused to end the affair even after I said I could forgive, refused to break it off even after I caught him half-dressed in a hotel with Her, and still could forgive—I don’t think Blake ever did either. At our dissolution hearing he gifted me a Tiffany bracelet, the one I’d begged for every Christmas the seven years we’d been together. I guess prior to our divorce, I wasn’t a worthy recipient, he respected me so little. In that sad courthouse setting, the silver chain with its heart-shaped charm sparkled. It was amazing, the bracelet’s splendor juxtaposed amongst the heartbreak rubble of room full of people who became—at a judge’s sentencing—something they never really wanted to be.
So here I am today, divorced with cats. And you know what? I’m loving what is. My days of caring for an ungrateful and disinterested spouse over, I wouldn’t change a thing. Truly.
Plus now that I’m single, it’ll be way easier to join a convent. I’ve just got to work on that conversion.
(Cheered by champagne, he only protested a little.)
