The ULTIMATE revenge story

While this was actually quite a painful time in my past, this story is friggin' hilarious. Really.

A little background: I dated my first husband for 5 years, married him at age 21, and bore his child at 27. He is 4 years older than I. It was a planned pregnancy. It had been thoroughly discussed prior to conception. It was NO surprise. Things were awesome during the pregnancy & we talked of all the things we wanted to do with this child, whom we found out at 20 weeks was a girl. We were thrilled.

Unbeknownst to me, my husband got a girlfriend when our baby was 10 weeks old. Someone from work. Someone 10 years younger than him. Oh, did I mention she could fit her ass into a size 10 leather skirt? I found out that the ultimate reason was that "I felt like you didn't neeeeeeeed me... you were always with the bay-beeeeeeeee. I was loooooooonely." blahblahblah. Fucker. Forgive me for nursing and caring for MY little one, for cooking and cleaning while you worked & then came home & went to sleep. Asshat.

I began having suspicions that he was cheating on me when our baby was about 4-5 months old. Ladies, if you don't know some of the signs, I'll give you a clue: new cologne, being really cheery at home (unusually so), working out, new underwear, all of a sudden there are a TON of retirement parties throughout the week when previously there were 2. In a YEAR.

I found out for certain when our baby was 6 months old. I was told, "treat me like I'm single...this is something I have to go through...I'll be back..." Yeah, fucker, but I WON'T.

Fast forward a couple of weeks:

I was sitting on the basement floor, crying pitifully on the pile of dirty laundry(that I was doing for HIM). I looked up at the ceiling, wailing "What am I going to dooooo? How will I raise a baby on my own??"

Now comes the funny part. Really. There IS one lol.

As I am sitting on the dirty laundry pile, crying, looking up at the bare bulb of the ceiling light, IT HIT ME. Through my snot and my tears, behind that bright shining light, like a beacon from GOD, I found my answer.

Surrounding the basement window, glistening in the light was pink insulation . I put on a pair of latex gloves, climbed on top of the washer and pulled out a HUGE hunk of it.

I then proceeded to insulate the inside crotch of his clean underwear. Every fucking pair. Everyday. For TWO WEEKS. I was never so eager and happy to do laundry as I was then!

I rubbed that shit into it, from front to back. Then I moved on to the jeans and insulated the inside seams of those from crotch to knees. His shorts didn't escape me, nor did his bathing trunks. I left enough fibers to get the job done, but not enough to be noticed.

Then I folded them all up and put them away, like a good little wifey.

I wanted him to think that bitch GAVE him something. It was the hottest summer on record in 1988. I knew he'd be sweating like a pig and I wanted him to itch and burrrrrrn.

Sure enough, after 2 weeks of daily insulating, he called me at work (I worked with OB/GYN doctors). This really took balls (pun intended LOL) on his part, lemme tell ya. He told me that she was "having some female problems" and "needed a good doctor." I stood there, holding the phone with my jaw dropped open to my navel. What fucking NERVE! I told him I'd have to call him back.

I grabbed the yellow pages and looked under "Veterinarians." I figured that since they were both PIGS, this was the obvious choice. I picked out a name and called him back, telling him, "Dr. Davis is the best in his field." I never did hear back if they made that call or not. I'd wager not, since I am sure it was just a way to torture me.

Now I wonder, what exactly do insulation fibers look like on a pap smear slide?

God, indeed, works in mysterious ways.