So, dear readers, the last time I left off in the Divorce-Redneck Style story I had just taken back Redneck Redhead (RR) after he went MIA & lied his ass off. I guess we'll start from there.
So after the events of September things went back to fairly normal. . . until RR started working weird hours. Our house was literally 2 minutes from his place of employment, and he would leave for work at 7:58, but not come home until 8 or so at night. I started asking him if he could manage to come home earlier a few nights a week; maybe not run to the office & work all day so many Saturdays. He kept replying that it was part of his job. He worked in rail freight and the hours can be unpredictable, so I let it go for a while.
But then things just got worse. I was a teacher at the time, and y'all know all teachers go to bed at like 6 PM because we have to be up at the ass crack of dawn & (for me) deal with 150 hormonal freshman all day. All I wanted was an hour or so in the evenings with my husband. Was that too freakin much to ask??? Apparently yes.
RR started working later & later, sometimes coming home at 9 or 9:30. Really?? Somehow everyone else in the office went home to their families at a normal hour, but the office would not run if he wasn't there at all hours. (yeah, he had little man syndrome & thought he was sooo important) Sometimes he'd call in sick to work because his stomach was bothering him & I'd check & see that he'd looked at porn on the computer for 8 hours that day. Yeah, porn. Always the girls with massive amounts of wavy blond hair, and even more massive amounts of tittage. Globelike, perky, Double D tittage. They were all there, all ready to make his every desire come true.
These photoshopped, surgically enhanced beauties just sat there getting fucked, or looking pretty, never complaining that they were too tired. They would probably cook & clean just like he wanted me to, as well, if only they could jump out of the screen. (Of course, right after they let him blow his wad all over their pretty faces) Riiiiiight. . . Back then I couldn't see the photoshop & surgery, though; all I saw were girls prettier than me; better than me.
I became more and more insecure, the more time he spent with his "lady friends." It all came to a head one night whilst watching the Victoria's Secret Fashion show. Yeah, you read that right. Redneck Redhead claimed to be a follower of modeling careers. Hand-picking (in his mind) the girls from the catalogue who would make it to the fashion show, then move to the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition & so on. Yeah, you can't make shit like this up. You really, really can't. He was so obsessed with beauty, and I, being human and not a freakish supermodel, felt that I could never measure up to his standards.
Sooo. . . we're watching the show and he see's Adriana Lima, or Heidi Klum, or some other freakish bitch float down the catwalk and says, "Wow! She is so beautiful!" And then I lost my shit. It went a little something like this:
Me: Really? She's beautiful?
RR: Yeah. Why?
Me: Must be nice for her. I can't remember the last time you said I was beautiful.
RR: What are you talking about? I'm trying to watch the show.
Me: How is it that you can call some random woman on the TV that you've never met in your life beautiful, but you can't say it to your own wife?
RR: You used to be so confident. You were a lot more attractive then. What the fuck happened to you?
Me; I became really insecure because every day I see you looking at these women. These women who have perfect bodies & perfect breasts & perfect hair. And they don't complain, they just sit there looking pretty for you. I can't be them. I'm insecure because YOU MADE ME THIS WAY!!!
And then . . . he picked up the coffee table and threw it across the room. Yeah, I'll let that sink in. Again, you can't make this shit it up. I'll say it, because I know you're thinking it: How in the world did I end up trapped in the 7th circle of white trash hell? I'm really not sure.
So then I get freaked out. I'm crying; I call my mom and tell her what just happened and say I may need to come stay again for a while. I hang up. I try to pull myself together; try to figure out what my next move is, and of course he comes to me crying and apologizing, and saying it will never happen again (just like the time he punched the wall right next to my head when he was mad at his brother...another story, another time), but sometimes I just make him so mad, and push him too far.
I stay. A few days later he asks me if I'm happy, because he's not . .
400 N. Stanley Avenue
4 days ago