October 11. 2018, the day my finances died.

I met you twenty years ago today. August 9, 1999. We had a good run until we didn’t. That’s life and I have no regrets.

But I have to say, in all the time we spent together, I never knew you had such a lethal sense of humor.

You know, like when you sicced the cops on me when you didn’t like the conversation, thereby chasing me out of the state.

Being treated like a common criminal after picking you up and dusting you off is one of my favorite pastimes. Remember the shack you lived in?

You sticking me with all the IRS and credit card debt even after I prematurely split the proceeds of the house with you. Did your arms shrink?

Then divorcing me by telling the judge you didn’t know where I was while I was ducking your restraining orders. (That was a good one).

And just to show you I have no hard feelings, I’m sending you the reaction shot of my face on the day you emptied my two bank accounts, then closed them. A truly surgical strike.

Did I think, back 20 years ago, as I looked at you across the table at Earl’s, that this was the woman who would try to ruin me and lock me up?

Unfortunately for me, no.

And fortunately for me, we never had children. (I would still be on drugs.)

But I don’t want you to feel like you’ve lost a husband, think of it more as gaining an enemy for life.

Enjoy the day, I have a funny feeling you will. Happy Anniversary. 🙂