Mister has been home since Thursday night. He has been mostly quiet. We are well past the devalue stage at this point. I think he has two reasons for not fully discarding me. One: I am half owner of our house and he doesn’t want me to have half the profit from the sale. Two: Property (me) isn’t supposed to leave its owner.

Both of those things are going to happen. He just doesn’t believe it yet.

I thought that he was just taking the week off because our daughter is getting married this Friday and he has things to do to get ready. He’ll need a suit and a haircut. I’m sure he’ll need to do a few things to make himself seem more impressive than what he truly is to the other wedding guests. I thought he was taking the week off. Then he got up this morning and told me that he was going to work.

I was understandably confused since he has been working in Georgia for the past few months. He just smirked at me and told me that the Georgia job is finished. He will be home for the foreseeable future. Then he stood at the backdoor and demanded to know exactly what I was going to do today. He wanted details.

If you want details from me at six o’clock in the morning, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I told him that I’m not doing anything. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

What I have actually done this morning was a practice run of wedding make-up so I won’t embarrass our daughter. I was also going to do a run through of wedding hair and try on dresses to see which one is most suitable. I gave up after the make-up.

I took a hard look in the mirror and realized just how much I have aged in the past year. I suddenly have some serious frown lines and a vertical ‘what the ‘f’ line in the center of my forehead that wasn’t there before and that sucker is deep! It’s going to take a skilled plastic surgeon to fix this mess. Or possibly five gallons of botox.

Living with him has aged me to a degree where I all most don’t recognize myself. I rarely wear make-up anymore and have no reason to look in the mirror. My hair is entirely too long (when was the last time I had a haircut?) and my face looks like a prune. 44 on me is looking more like 54. So I’m giving up for today. I’m going to wash my face, put the dresses back in my closet and ignore the mirror.

People keep telling me that you get yourself back when you leave a man like Mister. They tell me it’s not the same happy you that you were before you met him. It’s a better, more vibrant, joyous you. I hope that’s true. And I hope that me has a good dermatologist.


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