Photo Credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/27754725@N07/4187477812/”>Justin Benttinen</a> via <a href=”http://compfight.com”>Compfight</a> <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/help/general/#147″>cc</a>
I’m losing track of time (I blame menopause and the effing stress of moving/divorce/teenagers), but within a week of the settlement meeting, I got an email from Voldemort saying that he’d been to the family home and retrieved what he wanted from the garage.
Great, I thought. I’ll get over there, drag what remains into the driveway, and call Goodwill for a pick-up.
Of course with the Dark Lord, it couldn’t end there.
He then listed, in minute detail, all of his things that were missing. Like “most” of his teeny, tiny soldier toys. And the wall hangings from his “man cave.” And some paints.
I’ve chosen not to reply to this idiocy yet. Here’s the thing: he gave me an emailed 24-hour notice that he was bailing on our 23+ year marriage. The following week I purchased a large supply of sturdy moving boxes and packed his belongings. All of his belongings. I eradicated him from our house.
I didn’t shove his stuff into garbage bags. I didn’t throw his stuff in the trash. I didn’t set all that crap on fire (though it did cross my mind). No, I packed more than 50 moving boxes with his possessions.
Then I stacked all those boxes in the garage and stored them for 18 months.
After getting served with divorce papers, I emailed him and asked him when he planned to retrieve said belongings. It took three emails to get a response.
But now, oh now, he’s gone through it all and has a detailed inventory of what’s “missing.”
God, grant me the serenity to accept the sh** I really and truly cannot change.
Like his stupidity.