Laura's Corner

Yes, I know, the person you reside with makes your life a living heck.  I understand.  I am sure more than one of my ex’s has referred to me in the same manner.  I will be the first to admit at times I can push a button (or two).  Yet, when it comes down to it, the truth of the matter is this: each of us has chosen whom we want to relate to.

Your lover, girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, husband, partner, etc, is a pain in the ass.  You talk about it on a daily basis.  You would break up, but you can’t afford to.  You don’t want to give up your house, car, dog, cat, or snake.  I understand, neither do I!

The first step in healing regarding your situation is to acknowledge that you chose the Bass-Turd.  It is not a custom within the U.S. for someone to hold a gun to the head of another prior to walking down the aisle.  It’s not as if Bridezilla was forced into the union.  Groom made his choice too.  I know, you were tricked!  “The person I wake up next to is not person I married,” you claim.  He/she has become a living nightmare and you can’t take much more.  Well guess what??  Not only is your spouse a different person, you are too!

Your marriage license does not state “whomever you chose to marry will remain the same until death do you part” in fine print.  Don’t believe me, go pick up a magnifying glass or stop by a science class.  Put on your bifocals and take a look.  What your marriage license does state is that you both must sign on the dotted line to make it official.  Unless your spouse forged your signature, you are stuck.  Yep, unless you decide to dissolve your union, at least half if not all of your worldly possessions belong to your beloved.

Are there a couple of folks at your office who resemble Grumpy when asked about their home life?  I don’t know about you, but I sure have come across more than a few.  I don’t mind the first five comedic minutes of the conversation.  It actually helps me to appreciate my single life.  Sure, I have children living at home, but knowing that I don’t have to serve them with divorce papers allows me to see a light at the end of my tunnel.  Yet, after five minutes, I want to take my hands, reach out and touch the complainer.  As I imagine myself slapping Mr. or Mrs. across the temple, I want to scream, “Knock it off.  You chose your spouse, do something about it!”  But, of course, I don’t.  I sit, nod my head and give some much ignored advice and move on with my day. 

This is the deal.  Unless your partner is beating the crap out of you, molesting your children or abusing drugs and alcohol, deal with it.  If you are not happy, then go.  There are plenty of other places to live.  You don’t have to stay.  Unless, of course, you are handcuffed like Dabney Coleman in the movie “9-5,” then you might have a problem.  I want to give you permission to be happy.  How about letting that pain in the arse wife go?  You know, the one who never puts out anymore?  The one who barely acknowledges your hard work as a husband.  Same goes for you women out there.  Go ahead and let your guy go.  He is a no-good father and husband anyway, right?  He is the one who controls you and won’t let you call your mom/sister/girlfriend on a regular basis, correct?

What is most humorous about the entire situation is that the spouse, the one you complain about, has no idea you talk “stuff” about them on a regular basis.  In lieu of being honest and telling them how you really feel, you would rather tell complete strangers or a new lover about the situation.  You paint a negative picture about your wife/husband but have yet to acknowledge that the real problem is you!

If I knew my spouse/fiancé/boyfriend was talking “schtuff” about me to anyone, even a fly on the wall, it would be over.  I have but one life and I want to spend it with someone who treasures me and says nice things about me.  If you don’t like me, it’s ok, I am not holding you hostage.  I am not going to run after you, hold on to your leg and beg you to stay.  The only thing I ask is that you don’t let the door hit you on the way out.  I like my doors.