They need to fix the legal system in this country when it come to divorce and the abuse of restraining orders. If not, the cheese eaters will always win.

It was one year ago today, almost to the minute, when the disturbance at Wells Fargo in Sun City broke out. Security was called to the banker’s desk I happened to be sitting at because I was being told that I no longer had a checking or savings account at that fine establishment.

I wasn’t taking it well.

They were telling me that someone I was separated from and had taken care of for almost twenty years, thought it best that I learned to do more with less. Much less. Like nothing.

Someone, who in all that time, barely worked, never contributed to the household, went through horses, housekeepers, plastic surgery and expensive cars like underwear and always had her manicured hand out when the coffers were full.

She emptied and closed my only means of survival. My checking and my savings. Because her name was still on the accounts. I had no reserve chute. I became destitute.

It took less than ten minutes to move her belongings in when I gave her the invitation all those years ago.

After our separation, she filed a phony restraining order against me to keep me from asking her to help pay down the our marital debt. All communication stopped.

Until the bank called that day. I had no idea it was coming.

Back at the bank the situation further escalated when I asked where the money was that was in the accounts at the time of deactivation. When the banker looked at me like I just asked a really stupid question, the color of my language changed. And it got salty.

Everyone in the bank went into suspended animation.

I was left to stew in my own juices when the banker excused herself to retrieve someone higher in the Wells Fargo pecking order. But it was a Saturday, and she was on her own.

And I was on my own. Rent was due in a few days, I had a car payment, a cell phone bill, a dog to feed and the IRS was looking for their monthly nut she had reneged on. She never paid a cent.

A few days earlier, my lawyer told me unless I got back on her billing cycle, she could do nothing to help me contest the illegal divorce that my ex committed perjury to obtain.

She started talking to me like I just had a death in the family. She was sorry for my loss, but that was about it.

That was a year ago. If it wasn’t for some incredible people I would be typing this from a VA homeless shelter. But I’m not.

And I’m still talking about it.

The moral of the story is to never screw someone who has no secrets, no shame, no filter and suffers from Irish Alzheimer’s. I forget everything but the grudge.

As Buddy Guy says, “Be Careful With A Fool.”

It will never be over.