You May Have Been on Homecoming Court With Him, But I Get to Be in Divorce Court With Him

Some people think high school is the best time of their lives. Those people are idiots. Obviously, the best time of your life is really the day that you get to dress up like a princess, exchange rings with the first guy you met in college, and be the center of attention at a really expensive party.

Turns out it’s all downhill from there. No one told me that marriage is hard. I wish I’d known that waking up next to him every morning actually means being awoken by his snoring and hot morning breath in my face. But every annoyance, struggle, and blowout fight in front of our children has been worth it. Because it means I beat you, high school girlfriend. You’ll never know how it feels to drag this sorry bastard to divorce court, but I do.

You loved him wrong, you retainer-wearing, pimply-faced harlot. That’s the only possible explanation, because the demise of your relationship could not possibly have been due to a mutual incompatibility or any shortcomings of his. No, you screwed up, and therefore his intimacy issues are probably your fault.

I bet you thought you had your claws in him forever, you harpy. But your inability to love him right meant that I got the chance to suffocate him with love forever. That only lasted three years before I caught him sending Snapchats to my cousin (they were of our dog, but everyone knows that’s the worst form of cheating), but thanks anyway. I got to pose for pictures with him wearing a bigger, whiter dress than you did, and now our attorneys get to negotiate equitable division of our assets while we scowl at each other across a conference table.

Sometimes I have issues with jealousy, but it’s fine. I totally have a handle on them and never lost sleep wondering whether you were a better kisser than I am when the two of you used to make out under the bleachers long before I knew either of you existed. Just like I never freaked out and smashed his Xbox when he got too chatty with some fake girl gamer slut.

Even though my jealousy issues are super normal and under control, I hate that you once got to stand next to him on the football field while someone put a plastic tiara on your head. He probably hugged you tight and told you how beautiful and perfect you were. He quit telling me I was beautiful after our first child was born. I hate that he once felt desire for someone who was not me. Almost as much as I hate having to clean his disgusting beard hair out of the sink every morning.

My therapist says that someone insecure enough to be jealous of her husband’s prom date was in no way, shape, or form ready for marriage. But I have no regrets. I’m so glad I didn’t wait to get married when I was super old, like thirty. I could have spent the best years of my life building an identity that didn’t completely revolve around the man-boy we both once loved. Instead, I’ve shared experiences with him that you never will. And that means I won. You had your chance, but I had a $45,000 wedding. You let him go to third base, but I got to watch him let himself go. You may have supported him at his football games, but I’m the one who gets to sue him for spousal support.

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