or How Sweet It Is
Whoohoo, yippee, hoorah! Yesterday on my way home from work I complacently opened the rural delivery mailbox door, expecting to find the usual postcards advertising bath-tub refits, hearing aids and discount haircuts, or bank statements or at worst, income tax reassessments. But no, there, stuffed unceremoniously in the small space was the large self-addressed brown envelope I had given the court officer with my divorce documents on February 20th. Whoohoo. Then again, I was afraid to get too excited – perhaps the documents were returned to be corrected or with a list of omissions which would cause the whole process to start from scratch again. I was afraid to draw a full breath as I ripped open the envelope there in the open air by the mailboxes. Yes, yes, yes. The divorce is done and legal and best of all, completed without having to pay a red cent to a lawyer. Whoohoo.
Some might think that a divorce should make me sad, but not so. We have both gone on to find new partners who bring us joy and we are happy for each other. One fellow said jokingly at work “you know marriage is kind of like cooking pancakes; the first one is just for practice and is usually discarded”.
|Why should a foolish marriage vow|
|by John Dryden|
Why should a foolish marriage vow, Which long ago was made, Oblige us to each other now When passion is decay'd? We loved, and we loved, as long as we could, Till our love was loved out in us both: But our marriage is dead, when the pleasure is fled: 'Twas pleasure first made it an oath. If I have pleasures for a friend, And farther love in store, What wrong has he whose joys did end, And who could give no more? 'Tis a madness that he should be jealous of me, Or that I should bar him of another: For all we can gain is to give our selves pain, When neither can hinder the other.
The good news is that I won’t run out of engagement rings and I can stop substituting common household objects and ring pops. I can now start wedding planning in earnest. Now why do you suppose my sweetheart isn’t interested in getting married on a float in the Privateer Days parade?