The Dreaded D(ivorce)-Word: Hysterical and Hilarious

The Dreaded D(ivorce)-Word: Hysterical and Hilarious

“Hope is the thing with feathers.”

—Emily Dickinson

I like to cope with adversity by the means of hysterical humour. The blacker, the better, which goes both for coffee and for fun. I have been plotting to separate from my husband for years. At first I thought it was my duty to stay because that much I promised by the act of marriage. Then I discovered that guilt was overestimated and that I might not even have to live in eternal abjection when I divorce. It appears it is no more fashionable to pin the scarlet letter D to a divorcee’s chest to be worn until she dies in poverty and obscurity and gets what she deserves.

My soon-to-be-divorced husband is a moderately nice person, however, he may get aggressively angry when irritated. He is as unpredictable as poor dear me on PMS – which is a lot. I feared how he might react when I break the less than delightful news, and I anticipated he wouldn’t be too pleased. This is a severe understatement. At the beginning I was planning to pack my personal belongings while the husband leaves for work and have them moved before he returns. It would be very considerate of the neighbours because they love drama. I would also plant a hidden camera in the house and make the abandoned husband’s video viral.

Why, yes, I am a mean person, which is why I’m divorcing. Now listen to this. My scheme was blasted when I left one early morning under a mediocre pretext and inadvisably didn’t return until the next day. I texted the husband in the evening that I was staying overnight. I added ambiguously that we would have the big talk the next day. He texted back “OK”, very anticlimactically, and inquired where I was. I didn’t feel like getting into details and ignored the text. Crucify me now. Though I’d prefer being burnt at the stake because I like heat.

End of play time
End of play time

The next day I returned to a house which looked perfectly normal. The lock at the front door wasn’t changed and I could let myself in. There were no threatening notes left on my table and my books and clothes were undestroyed. Shocked by the lack of shock, I retired to the bathroom and ran a bath. As I was musing immersed in the steaming water, the husband returned from work early and attempted to storm the bathroom. I was locked in. I screamed, “Help!!” Joke. I shouted back, “Just a minute!” On which I bravely left the safe room and made me some coffee, while the enemy was sitting expectantly in the pretty red armchair that I picked with much trouble five years ago.

“You want to talk now?” I hissed unpleasantly because I’m an evil serpent. The answer was affirmative. “Well, there’s not much to talk about, really,” I said dismissively, “I decided I was moving out.” My victim burst into a mildly terrifying fit of hysterical laughter. “WFT?” I retorted. “WFT?” he retorted, choking with mirth. He didn’t see it coming and had a question or two. Or twenty. But before I even settled down to sip my coffee, he disappeared in the bathroom, crying. Well, that escalated quickly. Of course, I’m an emotionless person who doesn’t quite get all this sentimental stuff. I repaired to my corner of the home office and went on to surf real estate sites.

I expected for the husband to get over his initial disappointment shortly and start premeditating my murder, which would be more like him. Over the next few days, he was crying, sulking and looking devastated. It’s not like I’m divorcing him. Wait, I am actually divorcing him. Since then he had returned to his usual meanish demeanour. He still has occasional moments of weakness, such as when he proposed a modest but sensible divorce settlement. He hasn’t called off his promises so far. It could be really a distraction tactic, though, while he is realy plotting to put me down. Yet, I can’t help feeling inadvisably cheerful and hopeful about my undertaking.

Photo 101 Rehab: Rain Drops

Photo 101 Rehab: Rain Drops

Lucile, a life saving friend and blogger, is reopening her Photo 101 Rehab! Here is my contribution on the topic of rain drops. What you see is a bad photo masquerading as an artsy photo. Here is what I did in Corel PaintShop Pro X6 to make a blurry and badly lit picture look like I never meant it another way.

  • increasing clarity, sharpness and brightness
  • boosting overall saturation and vibrancy
  • adjusting hue and saturation of selected colours
  • applying a softening filter and a light vignette
  • narrowing the aperture to make the centre stand out
Weekly Photo Challenge: Serenity

Weekly Photo Challenge: Serenity

21-wpc-serenity

This shot could be interpreted either as an image of desolation or an image of serenity. Let’s go for the latter with the Weekly Photo Challenge on the subject of serenity.

Image

Washing Herself

062Washing

It is fascinating how cats enjoy washing themselves. See the blissfully closed eyes?

Video

Hating on Monkeys

I have no complaints against monkeys, but it seems that many other people do. See below for a Polish proverb about monkeys that nobody wants, a German proverb about a dead monkey and finally a song involving a dying monkey. Let’s kill some monkeys then? *evil laugh*

Polish Proverb

monkeys

German Proverb

dead-monkey

(Meaning “Let’s put an end to this”.)

“Monkey” by Low

Just Thursday Blog Hop: What Do You Like about Winter?

Just Thursday Blog Hop: What Do You Like about Winter?

just-thursday-05

The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.

–e. e. cummings, “soft white damn”

The next blog hop called Just Thursday, co-hosted by Nuvofelt and Rebekah, is here! I’m your host this time, and it will be Rebekah’s turn the next week. While risking that my prompt for today will be slightly out of place for the southern hemisphere, I’m asking you, what is your favourite thing about winter? Tell me in a comment or blog about it and share your link!

What I like most about winter is the snow. My feelings about snow are ambivalent: I love how white, clean and crisp it looks, yet I don’t particularly enjoy wading through it while freezing my feet off. When I’m out with my camera, though, capturing freshly fallen snow is a rewarding experience that makes me feel like a pioneer exploring white plains where no one set foot before.

Gallery

Frost

Eclectic Corner: Guess What!

Eclectic Corner: Guess What!

electic-corner-02

Can you guess what is in the picture? Justine of Eclectic Odds ‘n’ Sods hosts a challenge asking us to come up with a photo on the subject of protection. You can join by posting your guess in the comments and/or by creating a guessing post of your own!

Disaffected

Disaffected

I love you

Less than me

I want you

Less than candy

Should we

Even

Be?

Stuck on the Train in the Middle of Nowhere

Stuck on the Train in the Middle of Nowhere

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
–Robert Frost

 

It had been raining all night. The ground was cooler than the air, and as the rain fell, it created a nice, thick layer of ice on all flat surfaces. A hint: the pavement and the road are flat surfaces. So are train rails, as I was soon to make sure of. It was Monday, the only weekday when the husband is off work and the only weekday when I’m off to work.

The husband woke up, casually prowling around, yawning and watching the weather through the windows. “Mara, it’s not like I’m saying anything, but you should reconsider your going to work today. Just saying,” he just said. As I won’t stand to be toyed with in the morning, I gave him a killer stare that melted the frozen chicken in the freezer. Comments like these deserve but deathly silence, I thought and remained silent.

It’s not like I choose when I go to work and when not, especially when my work consists in teaching once-a-week classes for a one-term-long course. How many classes can you skip when you have twelve or less without effectively abolishing the whole subject? Teachers’ problems. I was determined to get to the railway station for my commute even if I should skate. And get there I did, not skating but skidding.

Snowbound and stuck
Snowbound and stuck

Well pleased with the accomplishment illustrating my impeccable work morale, I perched in my favourite seat in the train and made myself comfy, anticipating a delay. Like each year, the railway and roadway employees were surprised by the frost and snow that annually occur in these parts. Each winter, tabloid headlines bring breaking news: “SHOCK! ROADWAY WORKERS SURPRISED BY WINTER”, “SNOW CALAMITY! WHERE ARE THE PLOWS?” and “FROST-BOUND! GRITTERS, ANYONE?”

I got immersed in the depths and apps of my phone and forgot the world. Half an hour later I realised it was half an hour later. A train arrived on the neighbouring track, and its locomotive stopped next to my window. I amused myself by observing the remarkable undertaking of the distressed engine driver. He yelled alternately in a phone, in a walkie-talkie and at someone unseen around. He repeatedly climbed on the roof of the engine like a chimpanzee or a suicide.

I was ready with my phone camera on stand-by in case he electrocutes himself. I would graciously make him go viral on YouTube in memoriam. After ages, during which time was running backwards as far as the Ice Age, the engineer braced himself and unbraced the machine. The pantograph on top of the locomotive woke up from the winter sleep, and thinking it was Hogmanay, it went sizzling and sparkling like when you fry small fish with their scales still on.

The itinerant firework show crawled on to the next town. Surprisingly, the locomotive didn’t explode. I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed. *evil laugh* Of course I was relieved, as such regrettable incident might have interfered with my train’s departure. I started to suspect I got on a wrong train though, because it should have left an hour ago. All clues however indicated that I was in the right machine – the most convincing was the absence of other trains in the station.

I was impressed when the train started to move shortly. I was wondering if we had a light show on top of the engine too, but I thought that leaning out of the window to see would be inadvisable. I almost regained faith in the capability of railway transport to actually transport people. And then I lost my hopes and nerves when the machine came to a standstill a few hundred metres from the station. It went back and forth a few times and got stuck on the rails like when you put your tongue on frozen metal. (Don’t try it at home.)

Half an hour later, a frightened female ticket collector emerged, stood in the middle of the carriage, murmured a verdict and ran very fast for her life. We were about to be towed back to the station and substitute buses weren’t coming. I hid under the seat, expecting a passenger uprising. My dying words would be when I called to work that I wasn’t coming. And after two hours spent productively sitting on the train, I arrived home to the husband’s dry remark: “I told you so.”