Okay, I know it’s not healthy to hang on to resentments. The goal here is “meh,” but that said, cheaters create some of the most ridiculous situations to resent. At the core is some over the top narcissism, that is still jaw dropping. I want to hear your best moment of resentment.
You may have the sadly ordinary tragicomic resentment — “While I was birthing your 9 lb offspring, you were off cheating with your coworker.” That’s shitty, (there is a special ring of hell for those who cheat on pregnant women), but for the healing amusement of fellow chumps, try and recall the most your most absurd moments.
Most absurd resentful situation gets a “meh” mug mailed to them. (Because after you dredge this shit up, please go right back to forgetting about it.) I’ll announce the winner on Friday.
The idea for this contest came to me when Namedforvera posted this fantastic comment, which might take the biscuit (or the “meh” mug).
I costumed a production of Amadeus where my wasband was Mozart opposite an actress, who, he later told me, aroused him so much “he finally knew what a *real* woman felt like.” This while I was working my fingers to the bone making 18th century frock coats, especially for him.
There is something perverse about a cheater dressed up as freakin’ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart enjoying the narcissist fantasy of being the world’s greatest composer/lady’s man, while his poor wife unwittingly aided this delusion of grandeur by sewing his frock coat.
I’ll give you two from my infidelity experience. Strangely, they both involve food (or not so strangely considering the girth of my ex).
A couple months into our marriage, and less than a month after moving to a new state, he invites his family to come stay with us for a week. His elderly mother, his sister, brother in law, and two small children. Of course, he has to work. I’m purchasing and assembling beds. I’m scrambling to clean a giant, still unpacked house. I put out flowers in the bedrooms, chocolates on the pillows for godsakes. Want to please them, make a nice impression. I ferry his family to every tourist destination in Lancaster County, (they preferred the outlet malls). I cook the meals. Weekend comes and that Saturday he announces he has to drive to Virginia for “work.” But he’ll be back that night. REALLY? The weekend your entire family is here? The one day of the weekend you can really spend with them? You’re WORKING?
Whatever. We all roll with it. (Me, not happily.) He leaves at the crack of dawn and comes home around 7 p.m. Walks in the kitchen and I’m cooking tomatoes. First thing he says is — “That’s not the way to make stewed tomatoes.”
Like he is the World’s Foremost Expert on Stewed Tomatoes and I’m doing it all wrong.
(Had a huge fight about it later. I was completely baffled how anyone could be so unappreciative and critical when I was entertaining their family alone all day. This was, of course, before DDay.)
Next resentment of absurdity — It’s after DDay, we’re in marriage counseling, I’m in unicorn chump mode and still cooking for him. I make pasta for dinner one night, and he says to me — gently, in his best therapy speak, like he has a huge nugget of insight to share with me: “You know how in therapy, we’re supposed to say what’s really on our minds and what our needs are?”
“Well, when you make my dinner — I like the ratio of sauce to pasta to be 2:1 — there’s not enough sauce on this. I need more sauce.”
Okay, chumps — top that. Bring it on, and Happy Labor Day weekend! I won’t be posting again until Tuesday. But I do look forward to reading your seething resentments.