I just finished reading a book by P.S. about some random divorced woman named F.
Normally, it wasn’t my usual cup of tea; it belongs to a bunch I recently picked up from a charity shop originally meant for reading pleasure of the weed who will devour anything she can get her hands on without understanding the contents. Ask her about the story right after she put down the book and she will not be able to tell you anything.
Anyway, I must admit I didn’t bother to flip through the pages or read even the back cover. It’s thick, it’s colourful, it will suit the purpose I thought.
About a week ago, I was looking for some reading materials to pass the time in the loo (I tend to sit longer there than anywhere because of my IBS) aside from the usual supply of spiritual glossy magazines I get in a regular basis from the mother of you-know-who and why not nick one of the weed’s I thought.
Surprisingly, the book is nicely written and there are some recognizable situations here and there; so, I kept it next to the toilet seat in the master/en suite bathroom.
Though it was a good read, the story is more like a fairy tale to me. Why? C’mon, how many timid, doormat stay-home for 20 years mom with no academic background and no working experience or whatsoever, scorned, crushed and abandoned for much younger woman who will find herself a partner of some big PR firm, bought a new house which btw designed and decorated by some famous architect within a year after the hubby left her? And to top it all, she lost her pasty complexion shed the too many excess pounds become more beautiful than ever and been wooed by a gorgeous journalist within a month after the separation. Okay, the guy is maybe a drunkard but he’s dishy and successful nonetheless.
I can believe that there are some women out there (once they have read the book) who imagine that being cheated and dumped by their husbands is the best thing that could ever happened to them and the road to divorce is paved with gold and full of exciting adventures. Some probably would think: if it could happen to F. it could happen to me.
But like most fairy tale stories, it gives nothing but the illusion of false hopes. Come to think of it, as all fairy princesses, F. is also armed with the most important commodity a woman could have (except her p***y) looks! (surprise, surprise) and guts of steel as a bonus which she never demonstrated during her 20 odd years of marriage. I said to myself: what about girls who look like… me?
But I don’t want to get carried away towards that particular direction so, I’m going to stop right here which reminds me of something someone asked somewhere the other day… “Which is worse, death (of a partner) or divorce?” and I’m not talking monetary aspects here because if I am then the answer is ready made.
Me, myself I admit a get a notion or two after reading the book; but although some days I am ready to go or locked someone out (which I effectively did last Sunday but un/fortunately my son made a surprise visit so I had to open the door or otherwise…) and complain once in a while, life isn’t that bad; especially if you compare it with others.
Who doesn’t have bad moments every now and then? All things considered, for the meantime; I’m not going anywhere.