Kid drops, revisionist history and the system

Youth may be wasted on the young, but immaturity is most assuredly the domain of overgrown kids who really should know better.

Here’s a case in point . . .

Tonight, a friend of mine dropped her kids off with the ex for the weekend. If you’re divorced, you know the routine. You agree on a drop off time with the ex and then hope for a quick transfer. You want to remain unencumbered by the weights and measures of their rebooted domesticity, since real life has nothing to do with a Woody Allen movie.

For some, the transfer is seamless while for others such as my friend, it can be quite precarious.  She’s a newbie to the scene, divorced a little over a year. Her ex husband has been giving her a piss poor ‘brand new man’ act ever since she left, but to no avail. It would have been an easy thing for her to do, to fall back into bed with familiarity when the nights were long and lonely, but to her credit she never did so.

Doing things the right way paid off handsomely when she met a guy whose inexplicable interest in rock climbing matched her own crazy passion. Ever since they first met, she’s been taking the steps, slowly and with careful attention to her emotional GPS, while at the same time allowing her foot to dangle in mid air whenever they kiss. It’s cool to see her this way, replenished and hopeful again after what was too long a time away from the person she used to be.

And then she walked into a hornet’s nest tonight. Her ex ain’t digging the new guy so he threw his dime store logic out there, manipulating every single fact along the way for his convenient fiction. His embellishments were nothing if not unique, his revisionist history was comical. It’s what an ex will do when they can’t face the fact that it’s too late to change things. When they refuse to accept the role they played in writing up that forgettable ending.

She responded to his unreality like a grown up. No tit for tat bullshit, just straight talk. It’s one of the hardest things to do when the person you’re standing across from has grapefruit sized cojones and a pea sized brain. It takes a hell of a lot more guts to tell someone the way things are going to be than to simply tell them to go to hell. I was duly impressed.

“I don’t feel like such a hero,” She said, completely sapped from the exchange.

The vortex of yesterday and tomorrow can be a bitch of a thing to kick your way through, I know full well. My pal needed a little friendly advice and I wasn’t about to let her down. So I told her to turn off her phone and kick some boot.

Dr. Phil would’ve told her to consult a family therapist. What a putz.

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