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Being married twice means I never have to get married again. I’m basically off the hook.
People get it. They look at me now and say, “Marriage is just not something you’re good at.” And it’s totally acceptable, if not practical to never do it again.
Like a pilot who has crashed a plane twice, does anyone really want to see me take flight again? Nope. And neither do I. It would be idiotic to get behind the controls, putting flight crew and passengers at risk, when clearly I’m Harrison Ford in heels.
My first two, and might I add, only marriages where doomed from the beginning. It was as if upon starting the engine, I realized the wings and tail were missing and said, “It’ll be fine. I’ll just wing it.”
I apologize for the pun. There may be more. Note to self: Were my witty and relentless puns a cause for marital strife? No, that’s an adorable quality, not annoying. 🙂 Just like my overuse of emoticons. 🙂 🙂 :-0 Am I missing something?
I actually convinced myself that two wings were unnecessary appendages that just gave the plane symmetry, like the high cheek bones of aviation, not the physics behind aerospace engineering. And the navigation system, merely a cute little TV of the stars! Ohhhh, is that Cassiopeia? She’s totes adorbs!
I figured that all I needed was to get above the clouds. And once that happened, we would figure out mid-flight (after drinks were served, of course) where we were going. I hadn’t anticipated an actual destination or GPS to get us there. I believed in the magical thinking of flying through the air without the reality of gravity.
Were their red flags before my marriages? Yes. Red flags, caution tape, a hazmat crew, flares, and the entire air traffic control standing on the tarmac waving light batons shouting, “You’ll crash and burn. Crash and burn!” And yet, I put on my diamond ring, pulled the throttle and said, “But just look at that sky baby!”
There is a certain satisfaction that comes from fucking up on such a catastrophic scale, that takes the pressure off something I would never want to do again anyway.
I’ve had a root canal. Don’t want to do it again. I’ve given birth without pain meds, don’t want to do it again. I’ve been through custody and child support, attorneys and mediators. Don’t want to do it again.
And the beauty is, I can say, “I’m never getting married,” without anyone arguing, “Someday you may feel differently.”
When I say it, friends and family nod in unison and say, “That’s probably wise,” like they’ve just taken a loaded gun out of my hand.
“There’s a girl, just give me the weapon. You are not to be trusted with wedding cake or a ‘Save the Date’. Just step away from the alter slowly and no one will get hurt.”
As sarcastic as I am, (note to self: maybe another reason for marital discord), I’m not bitter. I think it’s great people are able to make marriage work, to compromise and rely on one another for support in life and with children. And I mean that. My parents are still together forty years after saying, “I do,” and they genuinely like one another. It’s weird.
But I’m not like that. I can’t do forty years, or as it turns out even eight. I’m more of a candidate for arranged or plural marriage. My family could have done a much better job of choosing a life partner for me. And if I were a sister wife, and wanted to take the day off from our twenty-seven children and cooking giant pans of tater-tot casserole, there would be ten more women in gunny sack dresses and high bangs to take my place.
The truth is, I never want to feel stuck again. Leaving a marriage, even a bad one is considered failure. But leaving misery did not feel like failure to me. It felt like freedom. It felt like flying.
I am blissfully tethered to motherhood and my child. And that is the only marriage I would ever take part in.
I’d like to be in love again. To feel that stupid giddiness of shmoopy poopy delirium. I want to date, but this time while looking deep into a man’s eyes will think to myself, “You will never be my husband.”
It’s liberating. Not just for me but the other person too. Whew! Dodged that bullet. Yes, you did. We both did! Isn’t it great!
I’m not scared of failure. Because I’ve already failed. I have crashed and burned and rose like a limping and scorched phoenix from the ashes, vowing never to fly too close to the sun again. And should I find someone I want to be with (sans vows and rings) I know that before getting on that plane, there better be landing gear, a twin engine, two wings, a tail, and just in case, a parachute.