But I'm Sure My Mother Would Not Approve

Tonight I ran into the kiddo's dad's landlady, E., when I dropped off the kiddo's baseball uniform. She's a batty old thing. Seeing as I almost never go to the ex's house (and for damn sure never go inside any more - my choice), he treated my visit a bit like Old Home Week, making sure E. got to say hello to me. I should mention that I have quite disliked this woman ever since she treated me like a friend, then turned around and wrote a letter on behalf of my ex when he took me to court for child custody.

So she showed up and acted all happy to see me, and asked me, "So did you do your chairs?" I had been all set to do a big art project right before my ex took me to court in 2004. I was caught off guard, so I told her no, but I was gearing up for a project again.

What I really wanted to say: "Oh, you mean the chairs I was going to do before my entire fucking life got derailed by the custody case in which you suported the petitioner? The chairs I was going to do before all the terms of my move 100 miles away from my family were completely changed and I was left adrift without support? The chairs I was going to do before I happened upon the kiddo's dad and his new girlfriend at the movies, when I didn't even know we were officially finished? The chairs I was going to do before I spent every day for over six months crying and could hardly function? The chairs I was going to do before I started having panic attacks over court appearances and sidestepping the new girlfriend and grieving my notion of how I'd thought my life would be? Those ones?? Well...NO, YOU TACTLESS STUPID OLD BACK-STABBING DRIED-UP BITCH, BUT THANKS A HELL OF A WHOLE LOT FOR BRINGING IT UP."

If my son hadn't been standing right there, I would've said what I was thinking. And now...back to not setting foot on that property. I just think it's better that way.