The Spanglish Girl Diaries
I know I’m sane because my shrink told me so…
I lost it… almost.
At first, everything was going well: I passed my ex on my way into court and I didn’t even blink, just stared him straight in the eyes.
I know I looked fabulous because I turned heads as I walked in, and my ex did a double take. Me in my Audrey Hepburn little black dress, cat sun glasses, and updo bun: #muyclassy.
I was feeling great, divorce proceedings aside. Then, she entered… My ex suegra aka Cruella de Vil. The witch traveled all the way from Mexico just to taunt me in court. Bruja!
Now, I know I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, but the witch had it comming: while I was married I kept my mouth shut to keep the peace, but now, I have no motive to stay quiet.
So it was one of those “hold me back moments.”
As she began to belittle me for needing spousal support, I flung at her, slapped her, and told her in my best novela Spanish the following, ” Vieja racista y clasista! Ninguna cantidad de dinero me va compensar por el infierno que viví.”
Then, the handsome guard grabbed me and carried me out like the true diva that I am to cheers and high fives.
Ok, not really.. See, that’s how it went down in my head as I was about to slap her, but luckily the guard stopped me in time… In reality, after being carried out, I walked away calmly, cried, and then went to see my shrink.
My shrink agreed with me that I’ve come a long way in taming my anger. The old me would have waited like a loca in the parking lot for Cruella and would have done precisely what I just described, but the new sane me knowns better: my ex and his snobby family are not worth the energy or time.
Now, that doesn’t mean I’m not plotting my revenge. The things Cruella de Vil did to me were cruel: initially, she hated me because I came from a poor family, then she resented the fact that my father was dark skinned because she feared her grandchildren would be too. And the final straw, she disliked me because I wasn’t skinny enough.
It get’s even worse, she helped my ex hide his affairs and the most hurtful, she belittled my parents on the day of my wedding for not dressing to her standards, in front of all our guests–that, I will never forget.
But, I’ve decided to not dwell on the past, at least not for now… Until I map out my revenge, something less novela like and dramatic (maybe a tell-all-diary…), I will concentrate on more important things, like my sanity and new life.
So now that I’ve been awarded spousal support and I have my waitressing job (which is going great), I can start looking into moving. My new mantra is in with the new, out with the old!
Besides, this big house is cramping my style. A single girl like me needs a chic condo in downtown Chicago. So first order of business this weekend, apartment hunting with my favorite prima/partner in crime, Lupe.
I think every Latina needs a “Lupe” in her life. I like to call her my sister from another mother, which as my prima, she kind of is. She is my sounding board and co-pilot in all things.
She and I spent that last weekend preparing for the court hearing this week. I have to admit, she was right: had I not shown up dressed to the nines, I don’t think I would have had the courage to face my ex.
Seeing him was tough: he looked good, as always. A small part of me hoped he would ask me to take him back or at least attempt to explain why he left the way he did, but he didn’t. As our attorneys went over discovery dates, he and I sat quietly across from each other, and neither said a single word.
The only words he spoke were to his attorney when she asked him to agree to return my credit and debit cards. To my surprise, he responded, “Yes, of course, I didn’t realize she had no other money…”
I want to believe him, that he didn’t mean to leave me so cruely, with nothing, but deep down I know he knew I had nothing. Or didn’t he… Maybe he believed I had hid money somewhere? I know that’s what everyone else was disappointed to find out I didn’t do.
No! This is what I do to myself and I let him do to me. I always allow myself to be played. I allow myself to believe or at least want to believe that he cares, but he doesn’t. He can’t or he wouldn’t have left…
Until next time Virgencita, thank you, things are looking up…
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