Saturday, June 18, 2011


So I sit down at my computer feeling very excited, happy and upbeat. I have a small window of time to send my husband an email, congratulating him on his trip cross country and to finally broach the subject of going public with the divorce. We are both feeling good and closer than ever, having agreed to no longer keep each other at arms’ length, preferring to write and talk to each other as though we were going to attempt reconciliation despite the fact we shan’t. But this new-found joy could lead to false hopes and I’ve grown so tired of living a duplicitous life so the time has come to put it out to the world that we are no longer a “we”.

So I grab an email he sent to me, and hit reply, write him a very chipper message letting him know how proud and excited I am for him, how happy I am and that I am so glad because it feels like we are better friends than we’ve been in years, I’ve transferred money into his account to pay a bill, and I was wondering if he thought it might be time to go public with what was going on between us. After all, I’m on a boat full of strangers who’s opinions I could care less about, but he is home, living it every day with no one to talk to. “Anyway, give it a ponder.” I conclude with, “I love you and I can’t wait to talk to you again. Laurel.” Send.

“Message Sent”…

To my entire web ring. You see, I replied to what I thought was a message from my husband about his show since his email address appeared in the sender line. However, what I really replied to was an advertisement he sent out to all our friends asking them to come to Cinderella. Oh cr*p!! I quickly and vainly search the help center of hotmail looking for a retract button but I know it is a futile exercise. I’ve been down this road before. I start to sweat and look at the time. Ten minutes until I must return to work. I reread the email. Optimistic, friendly, loving…wow, so now my friends shall very likely think that we are pregnant. I suddenly flash to a vision of my welcome home dinner which thinly veils the surprise baby shower, images of my friends scanning my facebook photos looking for the tell-tale baby bump, speculating on our consception and my due date, fooled by the weight that has actually resulted not from nuptial bliss but rather from too many pastries abroad. I take a deep breath and dash off a quick “Hey guys disregard blah, blah, blah” message, knowing this fruitless task will only insight them to read more voraciously though at least they are less likely to issue a response. I look at the actual email address for my husband. Work…and it’s Saturday. G*d, he won’t even know about this until he gets to work Monday. I have to tell him, in case someone, any one of our friends who, though well intentioned, are often very thoughtless and shortsighted and would want to be the first to the finish line of friendship offering support, effectively blindsiding him. So I take my now remaining six minutes and email him, at home, explaining what has happened, apologizing profusely knowing this will go one of two ways. One, he will be really, truly and, let’s face it justifiably p*ssed, or two, he will, as I am now doing, laugh at my innocent and typical mistake. Perhaps you are thinking, “How could he laugh at that?” but you must remember there was no malice in my action and more importantly, he has known me a VERY long time. It is comic stupidity such as this that first attracted me to him. It’s the one constant in our relationship.

Anyway, I finish my email, now picturing fully the saga that is unfolding back home and thinking I need to do some creative image editing to my photo albums. I take another breath, maybe only my fourth in the last five minutes, wipe away the tears that have now formed at the ridges of my eyes not from sadness but from laughing at my own foibles, and remember a passage which just seems to resonate to this situation as well as to all aspects of my life. No, it’s not from the Bible. I thought you knew me better than that by now. No, it’s from the Rules of Improvisation as explained by Tina Fey in Bossypants. “Rule # 4. There are no mistakes…only opportunities.” Yes Tina, I have created an opportunity. A great big, huge pile of …opportunity.

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