Yesterday I spent the better part of an hour talking to an old friend about the demise of her marriage. Now I realize I’m quite adept, an expert even, at the melodramatic but I gotta say – this thing has thrown me for a loop. I can’t say it’s ‘I lost my mom’ devastating but it greatly overshadows Packers v. Seahawks in the 2015 NFC Championship game.
Yah… it’s pretty big time.
Without divulging telling details I will say – there was a time we were very close to these people; their relationship ran a parallel course to ours. And I am absolutely befuddled by the details I learned yesterday.
C’mon people – I never use “befuddled” shit’s gettin’ real here.
After talking to my friend I (obviously) called Dan to tell him all the details – I feel confident in speaking for him when I say – he, too, was befuddled. I’ll call the wife Michelle to protect her privacy (I get it – not everybody loves the celebrity of being part of Karen Iseminger’s life).
Incidentally, I picked Michelle because years ago – maybe 15 or so – I remember Dan and I drifting off to sleep when I said, “Do you think it’s weird that we know 2 women named Heidi and only 1 Michelle?” Such a compelling conversation… lost to exhaustion.
P.S. we’ve since met quite a few women named Michelle so, thankfully, that ship has righted itself.
Now that isn’t a knock on the name Heidi nor is it a shot at those with that name, it’s just not as common as Michelle, that’s all….
Ugh… Dan’s sister is named Heidi – this unsolicited diatribe isn’t going to bode well for me at Thanksgiving dinner…. I’m just gonna shut up now.
Anyway… I told Dan how happy Michelle* sounds. I said, “She sounds so relaxed and free… like the stress is gone and her life is finally… good.”
“…you a little jealous?”
“Not gonna lie… I’m a tad jelly…”
So, with all of this in mind I thought to myself: on this September 29th, the anniversary of Dan asking me to marry him; maybe I should tell you about the many times over the course of those 22 years that I really wanted to divorce him.
Let’s start with our dating years…
Early on, I’d say about 3 weeks in to ‘Dan and Karen’ I cooked dinner for my new boyfriend (yes… 3 kids, 30 pounds and some $500,000 odd dollars in fast food – ago – I cooked). For the life of me I have no idea what I made but I do remember that REAL mashed potatoes was one of the sides. At some point during dinner Dan said, “these potatoes are amazing but you don’t have to do all this for me… I actually like the instant better.”
did.not.have.to.tell.me.twice.
Six or so months of water, milk, butter and potato flakes later we went to Binghamton to visit his parents. His mother made real mashed potatoes… Dan said – I shit you not… this is an honest to goodness true story… he says, “these potatoes are really good mom! Karen only makes instant.”
It’s almost 24 years later and I could still cut that em effer. Oh.my.gawwwd. what a total asshat.
Then there was the time our friends were getting married; it was an outdoor ceremony. All I wanted was a sweet hat – the bigger, the better. I kept saying, “I just want a big, fat, floppy hat.”
Full disclosure – this man has spent the last 2 decades plus shopping for wedding outfits with me – I know he is a strong man, for a weak man would’ve crumbled in year 3.
But there we were, shopping for THE dress. I said, “I just don’t know what I want to wear… maybe I oughta get my big, fat hat first.”
He said, “Don’t you think you should get your big, fat dress first?”
…there are no words
We were 25 and 24 (I’m a cougar, what can I say) when we started seriously dating. We moved to Dan’s hometown right before we got engaged in order for me to establish residency for SUNY Buffalo. He lived at home with his parents, I had an apartment; I never let him stay the night because I didn’t want his parents thinking I was “a slut” (I mean, I kinda was… but I didn’t want THEM to know). I always said those words, “I don’t want them thinking I’m a slut.”
One night he was dropping me off at my apartment. As he pulled into the parking spot I noticed he was making no move to get out; it was 2:30am or so. I said, “Aren’t you coming in?”
“Nah… I’m tired, I don’t feel like getting up in 2 hours to go home.”
“Fine. Whatever. Go home.”
“Well you’re the one who doesn’t want my parents thinking you’re a cheesy whore… a filthy slut….”
My face said, ‘whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?’
“I NEVER used those words!”
That one took a lot of groveling for him….
Then there was the time he took me to church on Easter Sunday. His lab partner had invited him. We showed up and were the only white people there. I had no idea his lab partner was African-American, nor did I care, but… being the only white people at the church was… awkward. The adults were fabulous, the kids couldn’t stop staring and whispering. We were undoubtedly – standouts.
The sermon was powerful; the message was – giving anything less than full attention to God meant the devil was winning. The pastor said, “if you are looking out the window right now at a fine woman on the street… the devil has won…” I’m sure he went on to say many more poignant things; I just couldn’t hear him over Dan’s snoring.
We went home and addressed our wedding invitations later that day – now that I think about it; I’m pretty sure I made ham and instant mashed potatoes… I wasn’t gettin’ any younger; I was totally locked in at that point.
There have been thousands of episodes in our years together. More recently was our trip to Atlanta. It was the surprise “Santa” trip. Each day of these Santa-planned trips is secret until they unfold.
On this particular day we were scheduled to ride Skyview – a big-ass ferris wheel that gives you a breathtaking view of Atlanta. The problem was… Santa left it up to the 5 I’s to decide when to do it (before dinner or after). Because Abby still believed in Santa at that point (she doesn’t anymore… a blog for another day) I waited until she went to the restroom after lunch to talk with the remaining I’s.
“Listen… Santa said we could pick afternoon or night for Skyview… I want to get to the house we rented right after dinner so everybody choose afternoon, ok?”
ok
ok
sure
Abby came back to the table, we left the restaurant and went about sightseeing at Olympic Park. “Ok everybody… Santa says we are to choose when to do the Skyview thing… what do you think?”
Alex, in all her genius, said, “I think we should do daytime ’cause it’s so cold and nighttime is gonna be FREEZING.”
Dan, in all his Dan-ness, said, “it looks like they’re enclosed, I’m sure they’re heated… I don’t think that matters.”
literally less than 10 minutes out from me prompting him
Listen… I’m not going to sugarcoat things… there’ve actually been times that I honestly wanted to divorce him, and him me. I mean, move out, call an attorney, it.is.over times…
Ha! that sentence reminded me of this one: a big fight early on in our marriage led me to call a divorce lawyer… ok… so, I hung up when they answered… but I still called, dammit.
I left the phone book open to the divorce lawyer page and laid upon it a piece of paper with the following written out:
divorce
no fault
6 months
$857.91
Dan later told me he knew immediately it was made up.
“How?”
“Cause nobody puts cents in a divorce estimate… who quotes cents????”
ok, whatever
…fucker
But I digress.
We’ve struggled… mightily. We’ve said things we shouldn’t have; we’ve been silent when words were desperately needed. We’ve argued, we’ve hated, we’ve cried and we’ve closed off our hearts… we’ve seemingly reached the point of no return – on more than one occasion.
But somehow… we’ve always made it. We’ve always worked it out. We’ve always remembered why ‘Dan and Karen’ work. We’ve always, always found our way back to each other…
His sometimes less than well thought out comments and actions aside – he’s perfect… for me anyway. For every amusing anecdote I can tell about him – he can tell a not-so-nice story about me. Believe it or not… I’m not the delight I often portray myself as…
The night before we got engaged (I had no inkling of what he had planned for the next day) I harangued that poor SOB for hours, “We need to get engaged soon! We love each other way more than ANY of our engaged friends. I don’t know what you’re waiting for…”
(uhhhh I’m waiting for just about 18 hours bitch… shut yer trap)
This morning as we sat next to each other, enjoying our morning coffee, I reached over and rubbed his thigh, “Happy engagement anniversary babe.”
“It IS our engagement anniversary…” he grabbed my hand in his, “…it was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
I chuckled. He clutched my hand tighter.
“It was the.best.decision.I.ever made. I mean that.”
And saying yes was by far the most perfect answer I’ve ever given to any question.