I can give you a bunch of reasons why Darlene and I deserved to get a divorce. Most could be filed in the dossier labeled “Irreconcilable Differences”.
Me, filling up the garage with expensive tools that got used maybe once. Darlene, filling up the closet with expensive shoes that got worn maybe once.
Me, wasting time watching NASCAR. Darlene, wasting time on Facebook.
Me, never telling Darlene how I was feeling. Darlene, always telling me how she was feeling.
Me, leaving the toilet seat in the upright position. Darlene, leaving the toilet seat in the down position.
And all the usual problems with intimacy, which I won’t go into, but which you can easily imagine.
Irreconcilable differences.
Naturally, I experienced some sticker shock after the divorce, as the realization sunk in that I had lost half my monthly income — the half that Darlene had been contributing — without any significant reduction in my expenses. Adjustments had to be made. No more imported beer, for one thing. You get used to Pabst Blue Ribbon, after a while.
The part that took somewhat longer to sink in? Being alone. It felt like such a blessing at first — no more fighting over which late night TV show to watch. I could wear the same pair of pants for a week, and no one complained. I didn’t have to share the ice cream. And best of all, for once in my life, I was always right.
Always.
But being alone gets old, after a while, especially for those of us who are getting old.
Then along comes a mildly dangerous but very contagious virus, and the public health people — who, for many years, have been anticipating exactly this type of highly contagious virus to come along, except that they expected it to be a lot more deadly — the public health people manage to convince the governors and mayors to shut everything down and tell everybody to stay home and have no social life at all.
I was already doing that. Staying at home and having no social life, I mean. I had that one down pat.
Now, I’m not trying to belittle the public health people, or the governors and mayors. They had never seen a virus like this before, so highly contagious and yet so relatively harmless among people under the age of 60. I understand how easy it is to overreact, when something unexpected comes along. Like the time Darlene brought home a cute, fluffy little puppy (that subsequently grew into a 100-pound Siberian Husky with a taste for only the most expensive dog food.)
It’s easy to overreact. I don’t mind, though, that the public health people overreacted. Because now everybody has no social life.
Misery loves company, and all that.
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.