We’ve all got our “man done me wrong” stories. But sometimes there’s a happy ending. No, not for him (after all, he didn’t get the girl, did he?) but for you. Because who doesn’t love to indulge in just a wee bit of Schadenfreude from time to time? Or constantly.
I recently got back in touch with the French Boy. You know, the one that was the impetus for this sad piece of blog-posting. Enough time had gone by that I felt mostly over it and was amenable to a quick “what’s new in your life chat.” He was starting to be just restless enough in his new relationship to do a quick market check. You know – where you hit up old flames and fuck buddies and the like to see if they are still in the market to meet and revisit old times again. And of course by “revisit old times” I mean bang.
Never EVER attempt to peel your own banana.
My what’s new included being laid off from my old job, finding a new one and preparing to move myself, my children and all of my shit back to my childhood home. His included a broken frenulum. (A what? Whatever you do DO NOT GOOGLE IMAGE THIS. You will see things that cannot be unseen. A text-based description is more than enough in this case.) Yes folks, he had broken his dick. While dry humping the girl who he had left me for. The girl who was, as he described to me in his own words, so much like me. Only younger. And with bigger tits. Obviously, this was not well received at the time. If I had known what a frenulum was back then, I may have attempted to break it right then and there. Luckily, I had the universe on my side to do the…procedure for me.
I am only slightly ashamed to admit that as soon as I understood the nature of his injury and the manner in which he had sustained it, I laughed. Right there on the phone. I laughed at this poor boy’s frustration. The injury to his most prized possession. And the fact that he had to abstain from any kind of sexual activity for 1-2 weeks while it healed. The more he explained things to me, the harder I laughed. Harder than the time that he hit himself in the balls with my leather belt. (At least that injury was sustained while he was doing something for my benefit. That is DEFINITELY another blog post – the dangers of amateur S&M.)
Need more proof that the universe is indeed on my side? My soon-to-be-ex husband recently came down with a rather severe case of kidney stones. Or, as I have re-named them, Karma stones. Dozens of them, just chilling in there, taking their sweet little time passing through. Each of them a miniature ginsu-weilding ninja of pain and despair leisurely making its way through the urethra. From what I understand, this is an indescribable pain like no other and the only thing a man can experience that comes even close to childbirth. Because this man is the father of my two precious children, I gave him the benefit of waiting until after he was out of earshot to laugh. Then I called all of my friends and had way more fun than should be legal at his expense.
The moral of this story – beware men of the Greater Bay Area. You fuck with me and my very best friend Karma will be along shortly to smite you. Probably in the dick. Because apparently that’s how she rolls.
The Reluctant Monogamist 