Mr. Brexit Surprised By Current State of Affairs

“I threw a big party after my divorce to show the world I was back, but no one bothered to show up.”

When Larry Brexit first changed his name in 2016, he thought the only way was up.

“The future looked so rosy,” said Mr. Brexit, 62, of South Shields, England. “But now everything has gone to shit.”

Sat in his studio apartment, stroking his British Bulldog Nigel as he spoke, Mr. Brexit explained that around June 2016, after an “unspecified disagreement” with his wife of 24 years, he filed for divorce and set out to make it on his own. But since then things haven’t gone as well as he hoped.

“Honestly, the last few years have been terrible. But really, who could have predicted it? Well, my friends did to be fair. They warned me repeatedly, said I was making a huge mistake, and now they won’t even talk to me anymore. They took Sheila’s side. I threw a big party after my divorce to show the world I was back, but no one bothered to show up. In truth, they got distant with me ever since I changed my name.”

Despite the challenges, Mr. Brexit said it was the best decision he ever made, closely followed by his divorce, which he wishes he did years ago.

“I don’t know why I put up with it so long,” he said. “I was out there working 35 hours a week, but did I get to keep all my money for me? No! Sheila expected me to pitch in and pay half of the mortgage, half the gas bill and put something towards food for the family. When I wanted a Porsche convertible on my 60th birthday, she told me we couldn’t afford it. As you can imagine, I’d had enough. I didn’t want to be controlled anymore.”

Filing for divorce, Mr. Brexit made his initial demands, but his estranged wife refused to accept, calling them insulting and unfair.

“What was insulting about them?” Mr. Brexit recalled. “I asked for full custody of the kids, of course, but that Sheila keep paying for them, in full, until they turned 18. She gave birth to them after all, not me. I also asked to keep the house, the car, and everything else I’d contributed towards financially over the years, and for her to keep paying her half of my bills for a bit, you know, just while I get settled.”

After years of bitter negotiations and legal battles which turned his children against him, Mr. Brexit compromised: his ex-wife would get the family home, he’d move out, and she’d keep the car, furniture, and all their investments. He’d also have to pay child maintenance until their children turned 16, and he’d only get to see them on alternating weekends.

“They usually make excuses and don’t come over though,” he said. “But no, it was a fantastic deal. Hats off to my lawyer. Still got to cross the T’s and dot the I’s, but these things take time. Give it another few years and it’ll get there.”

When Mr. Brexit moved out he said he finally bought himself that Porsche convertible, although a dinted 10 year old Vauxhall Corsa now sits in his driveway. Pointing out the window to it, he explained:

“The Porsche was a nightmare to run, especially with this bloody fuel shortage. And I didn’t realise how expensive everything was now. Sheila handled all the finances. With just one wage coming in, I had to cut right back. But I got a really good deal for it. Part-exchange.”

In his younger days, before he was married, Mr. Brexit ran a small importing and exporting business. Nowadays, he works at the local Sainsburys supermarket and moonlights delivering pizzas for Papa Johns.

“I knew I couldn’t go back to what I had before,” Mr. Brexit admitted. “The world is a different place. But I had connections. And lots of prospects. Honestly, the discounts I get from Papa Johns are great, even though their dipping sauce is crap. Plus I get to keep all my tips. I finally feel free.”

Back on the dating scene once again, Mr. Brexit has signed himself up to various online sites, promising “hot singles in your area” but none of them want to meet him.

“In my mind I was still a young heart-throb,” he said. “I got lots of attention from the ladies back in the 80's, let me tell you. Naturally I thought when I left my wife things would go back to the way they were, but they really didn’t. Obviously on my dating profile I used an old photo, and when I showed up for a date, the girl said I was a fat old fart and a liar. Now no one swipes right on me. I got Nigel because I needed some damn company.”

At his lowest point, he even asked his ex-wife to take him back in, but she refused.

“She’d already moved on,” Mr. Brexit said quietly. “Had some Turkish fella constantly popping over, although she says she wasn’t interested.”

But Mr. Brexit remains optimistic. Popping Nigel on a urine soaked cushion on the floor (“I still haven’t figured out how to toilet train him,” he explained), Mr. Brexit stuffed some unopened envelopes in an overflowing drawer, and taking a chipped mug with the fading words “keep calm and carry on” written on the side.

While making himself a cup of tea, he explained how he has ideas to get back in to the world of business, and hopes within a few years to be back on track.

“I stocked up on toilet rolls during the last lockdown, and as soon as there’s another shortage I’ll be raking it in,” he explained. “The only thing holding me back right now is this legal stuff with Sheila. If you look at the bigger picture, really things aren’t so…” his voice trailed off as he realised he was out of digestive biscuits to accompany his cup of tea.

There was a long silence, pierced only by the lapping of Nigel licking himself.

“No, honestly,” Mr. Brexit said finally, more to himself than anything, “everything will work out. You’ll see.”