I recently saw my ex pedaling on his bicycle looking haggard and quite frayed around the edges. He stopped…we chatted. And forgive me for this, but I whispered into the ethers…thank you God for giving me the strength to run.
I remember eight years ago how all of my friends short of an intervention, gathered to say…you are nuts if you leave him. You will never find another rich man at your age Susannah, whatever are you thinking?
I wasn’t thinking about anything but reclaiming my life after living his for far too long, something that occurs when you get involved with someone so wealthy and vain. His existence was bigger, so mine got eaten up.
He was also an alcoholic and womanizer, but money is supposed to trump this, but trust me, it doesn’t.
Our union was never based on love anyway, but mutual need. His to take care of someone with me being the poster child in the throes of getting over someone else who almost put my lights out…
he and his checkbook swooping in like a tipsy hawk to save me.
Going through a divorce with an Asian woman who was Mao in designer clothes, wanting everything short of his kidneys. Never in my life had I witnessed such ruthlessness thinking…wow, she’d be so hot on the lecture circuit. His fear of her wasn’t much of a turn on either.
Let me just say, love…real three-ply carbonized love, to borrow from writer, Anne Lamott, needs to exist between two people in the beginning because you need that reference on the back end when everything cools.
And it does, in one way or another,
My friend Camille screamed, just hang in there…drink if you have to…but he’ll pay the Con-Ed and take you to Paris for your birthday…and don’t forget the new Manolos comin out in the spring.
I’m not as sassy, smart or sandal conscious as Camille, and there’s always Shoe Town for a new pair of flats since my freedom means more to me than an overpriced pair of slingbacks.
But she was right, I haven’t met another rich man since. But do you know who I did meet?
and I kinda like her.