All right, blogerati, it’s time to set the record straight.
I’ve seen the stuff that my ex-wife’s written about me. According to her, I’m a selfish, workaholic husband and a half-hearted father who was always too busy chasing the dollar (and chasing skirts) to bother with my wife or my family.
According to her.
Did she mention the thousands of dollars she racked up on our credit cards? Or the dozens of fender-benders she had (usually her fault)? I paid for the mechanic’s vacations to Cozumel every year with those car repair bills – and his kid’s braces, too.
And believe me, orthodontia doesn’t come cheap. Thank God for billable hours.
Despite the less-than-flattering picture my ex-wife Dana has painted of me – in short, that I’m a lying, cheating, unfaithful bastard – I’m here to state that I’m not the bad guy in our relationship. I’m a good father, an excellent provider, and (dare I say it) I’m still damned attractive. At least, other women seem to think so.
But I digress.
With Dana, it was always about the money. Big house, bigger house, biggest house. A gated community. A cruise every year, and later, twice a year. The latest model sport utility vehicle in the driveway. Tiffany earrings for Christmas – Every. Single. Year.
She wanted those things, and I gave them to her. Gladly. But it was never enough. When I’d come home, bone-tired after a long day in the courtroom, wanting nothing more than a drink and a hot shower, she’d launch into me.
Did you pick up your suits from the cleaners, Alex?
Did you take off your shoes, Alex? I don’t want mud on the carpets!
Becky needs help with her trig homework, Alex. You know I’m no good with numbers.
And my personal favorite – I’m tired, Alex, and I have a headache. Don’t even think about getting anything started.
How could I get anything started, I ask you, when her battery’s been dead… for years? Her Rabbit died the minute Becky was born (and I’m not talking about cute little floppy-eared bunnies).
Now that I think about it, that’s when things really started going downhill between the two of us – after Becky was born. It was no longer the two of us. It was the two of us, plus a squalling, red-faced baby who slept only sporadically and consumed Dana’s every waking moment.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter. Becs is a great girl, funny and smart – even if she’s turned out to be a little materialistic (like her mother). But when Dana became a mother, I suddenly became He Who Gets No Sex. Sex wasn’t merely off the menu; it wasn’t even in the restaurant.
So I found my amuse-bouche elsewhere. What else is a red-blooded male with a healthy sex drive and a disinterested wife supposed to do?
I was always discreet; I never flaunted my affairs in front of Dana. And honestly, those other women meant nothing. It was just sex. But of course, when Dana found out, she didn’t see it that way. She was furious. Hurt, and furious. And I guess I could hardly blame her.
Despite my protestations that I still loved her, that I still wanted to be married to her, she threw me out. Then she filed for divorce. Seventeen years of marriage went down the toilet, just like that.
I’ve since moved on; so has she. We attempted a reconciliation a couple of times, but it didn’t take. Becs simmered with anger for a long time, mostly at me, because – of course – Dana painted me as the bad guy. I admit I made mistakes; I cheated on her. And for that, I’m sorry.
But the thing is… Dana will never, ever see that she wasn’t blameless in the demise of our marriage.
So there you have it. My side of the ‘Alex-is-a-lying-bastard-who-cheated’ story. Don’t get me wrong; I screwed up, and I betrayed her trust. And that was wrong. But she pushed me away… again and again. So I found what I needed with someone else.
I loved you, Dana. A part of me will always love you. But what we had? The mix tapes, the private jokes, the way we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other?
It’s over, babe.
And for that, I’m truly sorry.