Posted on February 20
You know your life is going to suck when your parents name you Millard... but you're a girl. And you should certainly expect to receive divorce papers on Valentine's Day, instead of that bouquet of roses you've always wanted. I guess maybe roses was slightly far fetched, but I think that divorce papers only appear on Valentine's Day for a select few.
So I guess I'm starting a blog because ranting to a bunch of random strangers seems better than having to endure the look on my mother's face when I tell her that I'm getting dumped... again. So back to last week, specifically Valentine's Day which you all are probably wondering about...
I was driving home from work, my eyes barely able to stay open after answering phone calls for eight hours straight. The dashboard clock flashed 7:37pm, reminding me that James should have called around 37 minutes ago. When I pulled my beat-up Subaru wagon to our cozy two-story, I anxiously rushed to the front door. I should have noticed that the house was pitch dark, not a single light on. I should have noticed the set of house keys in the mail box. And I really should have noticed the absence of James's sleek silver convertible from the empty spot across the street. For some strange reason, I remember feeling excited, waiting for, what I believed to be, a rare romantic gesture from the man of steel himself. I ran up the stairs, my feet bounded on each step, giddy with excitement to see what awaited me in the bedroom. When I flicked on the light switch, instead of roses lain across the bed, I was met with a big, fat stack of divorce papers with a post-it note on top: "please sign by the x's."
Song for the day: "I hate Valentine's Day" by Jewel
