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Abstract

ing. Not like Patti LuPone. Still, what I lacked in talent I made up for with enthusiasm.But I am off topic. I was trying to explain that I miss my appliances, at least those dishwashers, more than I miss my ex, and I think that makes me sound kind of cold.And cold people, in my opinion, deserve neither sympathy nor pity.So, with that out of the way, if you’re ready to find out about my crazy divorce — a divorce I also label incestuous — I’m ready to start.Almost.However, before I do, a bit of back story on that incestuous thing. Several of my friends are uncomfortable that I label my divorce incestuous.I get that. I understand. Incestuous is a pretty strong word. Offensive even. But how about I tell you that my ex-father-in-law was a bigger player in my divorce than my ex-husband. If I tell you that, what would you think? Would you think incestuous might be an apt descriptor?And how about I tell you I wasn’t negotiating with the man I married, I was negotiating with his father. How’s that land on you?To me it’s peculiar, kind of creepy, and at least borderline incestuous.

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Hence, the title.Now with that out of the way, let me also explain names and such.My ex and his family think of themselves as fairly well known. Believe me, however, unless you travel in certain financial circles, you would never have heard of them, and because of that, I’m not going to use their names.Their names would mean nothing. Less than nothing.In addition, my ex-father-in-law is incredibly wealthy. Think Trump if Trump had ever once been truthful about his worth.Think the kind of worth that enables a person to buy a $1.4 million house for cash. That’s a lot of money.And, from my perspective, my ex-father-in-law is a tad litigious, so I won’t use his name, and I won’t use my ex’s name.I will call them the Lowells.My husband will be Nicholas; his father Harold, and his stepmother Esther.And me? I’ll be Kelly.Now. Now we’re ready to start.And, other than the names, every last thing I write will be the absolute, honest-to-God, unvarnished truth.Mostly.Ready?</article></body>

My Big, Fat, Idiotic Divorce

Prologue: In which our plucky heroine survives the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

My Border Collie Cross Chaco, Whom I Love More Than Any Dishwasher. (Photo by Author)

Can I tell you about my divorce? Please?

I promise — cross my heart and hope to die — that I will not portray myself as a victim. I will not hold my heart in my hands and expect you to feel sorry for me. Feeling sorry for me, in my opinion, is the same as pitying me. And I am too vital, too content, too everything to want pity from anyone.

Truth is I realized today while I was emptying my dishwasher that I miss the 2 Miele dishwashers that stayed with the marital home — which I didn’t get, by the way — much more than I have ever missed my ex.

I loved those dishwashers. Their interior LED lighting made me feel like I was Patti LuPone on Broadway every time I loaded or unloaded them, and I would burst into song.

Never mind that I can’t sing. Not like Patti LuPone. Still, what I lacked in talent I made up for with enthusiasm.

But I am off topic. I was trying to explain that I miss my appliances, at least those dishwashers, more than I miss my ex, and I think that makes me sound kind of cold.

And cold people, in my opinion, deserve neither sympathy nor pity.

So, with that out of the way, if you’re ready to find out about my crazy divorce — a divorce I also label incestuous — I’m ready to start.

Almost.

However, before I do, a bit of back story on that incestuous thing. Several of my friends are uncomfortable that I label my divorce incestuous.

I get that. I understand. Incestuous is a pretty strong word. Offensive even. But how about I tell you that my ex-father-in-law was a bigger player in my divorce than my ex-husband. If I tell you that, what would you think? Would you think incestuous might be an apt descriptor?

And how about I tell you I wasn’t negotiating with the man I married, I was negotiating with his father. How’s that land on you?

To me it’s peculiar, kind of creepy, and at least borderline incestuous. Hence, the title.

Now with that out of the way, let me also explain names and such.

My ex and his family think of themselves as fairly well known. Believe me, however, unless you travel in certain financial circles, you would never have heard of them, and because of that, I’m not going to use their names.

Their names would mean nothing. Less than nothing.

In addition, my ex-father-in-law is incredibly wealthy. Think Trump if Trump had ever once been truthful about his worth.

Think the kind of worth that enables a person to buy a $1.4 million house for cash. That’s a lot of money.

And, from my perspective, my ex-father-in-law is a tad litigious, so I won’t use his name, and I won’t use my ex’s name.

I will call them the Lowells.

My husband will be Nicholas; his father Harold, and his stepmother Esther.

And me? I’ll be Kelly.

Now. Now we’re ready to start.

And, other than the names, every last thing I write will be the absolute, honest-to-God, unvarnished truth.

Mostly.

Ready?