Divorce

Molly looked at her paper in disgust.

Typos. Typos. Typos...

No wonder they called her the 'typo queen' in Literature 300. She bloody-hell never spell-fucking-checked anything!

"I give up," she yelled at her stupid image in the mirror. All she wanted was an A in the course but she lacked the basic decency to do the simplest things. Like feel excited about going to class. Or care to check her papers.

Okay. So the teacher was a drone. He made everyone fall asleep with his monotonous nasal lectures. And when he wasn't teaching he was nagging. Still, there was no excuse for her typos. That's how an A grade paper ended up with an F.

She looked at the F which summed up her f-ing life, and understood why Van Gogh had sliced off his ears. Life simply sucked. And if that was not all, nothing mattered anymore.

Her husband of many years had just told her he wanted to leave. And she was mourning the loss of a lousy sexless ten year marriage. At 34, nonetheless, and with no kids to show for it, either.

"I guess it's good-bye then," Matt had put a hand on her shoulder, just before getting into the car with a smug smile.

"Yes," she had replied, praying to God she would not cry in front of him. At least not until his car was out of sight.

What she wanted to say, was: "Please don't go, Matt. I beg of you." But, those words never came out of her mouth, and she wouldn't have let herself live if they had. All she knew now was that her life was worth nothing anymore, now that he was gone. And she was still trying to understand why.

It was not that he had found anyone and fallen out of love with her that made him go. It was her. Just her. SHE wasn't sexy enough. SHE didn't light his fire. SHE failed on every level to make him happy. So, as a man he had to let her know.

"I need to be free. To meet more women. To have sex. You know, I love you, but I'm not in love with you anymore and I want that in my life," he told her one day during dinner. Just like that!

It's was too hard a blow. Just two years...

She had just started to get used to his quirks -- the way he snored, left the towel in a pile on the ground after a bath in spite of her constants request not to, forgot to take the garbage out in the morning, or let the dishes pile up in her absence. But when he kissed her, she forgave him for messing up her life like she had never imagined. And she wasn't even sure why. She could taste his mouth and it was a strange kind of closeness. Yet, his familiar toothpasty kisses had an odd way of saying "I love you" like no other words.

Two years was too soon.

"We can try new things in bed," she had offered, when he didn't kiss her like that anymore. She went to the lingerie store and bought a few strange things she'd never considered before. Thongs. Belts. Knee high socks. Ruffled feathery god-knows-whats! No more of those granny undies for her, anymore!

Anything for more toothpasty kisses! But nothing seemed to break the spell. He just grew colder, meaner and more distant.

SEX -- that word became a part of someone else's life, not hers, as she stayed up nights in her new bedroom and old study trying to think of how to go on. Sometimes, when she was really low, she slept on the warm rug with a blanket, next to the fire, and imagined people who slept on rugs next to fires but who actually made love.

How she wished she could be one of them... It amazed her how bad her luck had been. After all, everyone else she knew had families -- had love.

As she wept, she was sure Matt could hear none of her crying, however. HE was probably in deep sleep, happily carrying on with his life, because that's what he was: HAPPY. That's what he had told her, anyway. Ever since she had moved to the study on her own volition, he had announced how happy and free and accomplished he was! How everything was going just as he had hoped for in his life -- omitting the "now that you're out" part.

He beamed in the morning as he went to work. He beamed when he came home late at night. The only time he frowned was when they had dinner in the same room, or sat to watch TV. After a while, it made her feel ugly. And she didn't do it anymore.

That was the thing about the relationship. Before the marriage he had treated her like a rose. Now he treated her like a thorn. Or worse, a dog.

She had never been neglected before. In fact, the reason why she married him is because she felt loved with him. Other men she knew did not gloat over her like her did. They did not call her 'beautiful' and if they did, she had not noticed. They didn't have cute pet names for her, like 'honey'. She wasn't anyone else's 'world'.

But now she was the ugliest person she knew. A married woman who had become boring to her beautiful husband. Whom no man would hit on because she was spoiled goods – taken, married, done.

And yet, she wasn't quite sure why he had lost interest. What was wrong with her?

Men still complimented her on her looks or her attire, even if they did not flirt. She was quite stylish. A bit of a trend-setter at work, where everyone dressed either like they were going to a Halloween party or like they were in drag. A bank was no place for people who wanted to live life. And she made no attempt to fit in.

People at work depressed her. But she was full of life. Yes...she had no excuse to be morbid. She had it all. She had a man to go home to, unlike all the ugly spinsters at work. A man who wasn't just any man. He was her best friend. Her confidant. Her lover. Because THEY were HAPPY!

But he didn't seemed to think so.

Now in her study as she rolled up in her flannels and polka-dot granny undies, she suspected that he was having an affair. Checked his computer for clues. Maybe an online affair. Maybe a name in a phonebook. But nothing. Then again, maybe "she" was from his work. People spent more time at work than they did with their families. Why not? But then she knew all the women at his work, and they didn't seem interested in him, or it didn't look to be so. She could think of one woman he was interested in – a Greek. But she didn't seem interested.

But maybe it was not necessary for the woman to be interested for him to lose interest in her? He had told her, after all, that he was not in love with anyone. That he was, however, attracted to every woman. How he wanted to have sex with every woman who tempted him.

"Yuck!" she shuddered, trying to get the image out of her head, as she lay there on the rug feeling sick of herself.

She couldn't understand him anymore. He certainly wasn't the sweet boy who had courted her through college. That shy boy was gone. In his place had appeared an egotistical smut she really cared nothing for. And, as his car drove away this finally occurred to her. And for once in her life she knew whom she would miss the most.