Harboring ill feelings is no way to “get over it,” but being the bigger person is not among my most recent accomplishments, as evidenced by my behavior the day before leaving for New York. I am no expert.
Without revealing all the details, X had a financial obligation of which he was not abiding. Plus, X was not answering my texts, the only way we communicate. So I went to the house where he lives for the first time. The anger was building.
How long before one gets over the rage?
HBO’s Carmella Soprano, whose Mob-husband, Tony, beat, berated, cursed and cheated, described him succinctly. “He’ll put his dick in anything that has a pulse,” Carmella told the psychotherapist.
Revelations such as Carmella’s can lead to bad behavior. This was the case when I knocked on X’s door.
The other woman answered. I heard through the grapevine the older woman was older than X. To my great satisfaction, she was. I told her who I was.
“He isn’t here,” she said.
“Where is he?” I asked. I briefly explained the financial dilemma and turned and got in my car.
I got out of my car. Having been face to face with one of the X’s alleged paramours, I was compelled to ask a question. X had maintained that he lived with the woman as a friend, not a lover.
My curiosity overcame my good manners. I decided to knock on the door again.
“I have to ask you a question.” I said when she reopened the door. “Are you having sex with him?”
“I don’t think I have to answer that question,” said the other woman.
“I think I have my answer,” I replied and walked to my car, the walking wounded.
“Well, you took him for everything he had,” she yelled out the door to me.
I spun around quickly and looked at her momentarily, trying to gain some kind of control.
“He threw all our money out the window,” I answered, “and broke up our family with the likes of you. Eff you, eff you, eff you.”
My voice escalated several decibels.
What was your first encounter like with the other woman (or man)?
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