So, I am attempting my one-sided journey to peace. But I can't really get past the fact that I only feel pity. I feel so fortunate to be un-linked to Lousy. Quite simply, I pity the Lousy little fool....

Nice going Lousy! Just when I thought you couldn't suck anymore....you do!!

No lawyer, therapist, family member, or priest can get through to a lousy. They treat you like dirt no matter how nice you are....did I mention that his parting words when he took my children for Christmas break were..."I'm gonna take custody from you....." Yeah, right....he is about as stable as a weeble wobble.

The little ones were due home last night at 5...I had all their Santa gifts set up, their dinner on the table, a fire in the fireplace...guess what?They got home at 8 pm - tired, confused, and out of sorts. He gave no explanation, no updates, no excuse, and certainly no apology.

The little ones came home with no new toys, or gifts or clothes. Just what I had sent them with. 

Last year, Thanksgiving felt really sad to me...but what a difference a year makes! When dealing with Lousy now, things are much less gray and a lot more black and white. The emotional haze that was so confusing a year ago, has now subsided and I feel like I can see reality and operate on a much more rational plain - not one that is emotionally driven.

When I see Lousy or think of him now...I see him for the two-timing turkey he is...

I was on the cusp of the new phenomenon way back in 2001…. the very, very particular bride with very particular ideas about every aspect of the “event.” It was before David’s Bridal carried strapless dresses (“On a bride? In a church?) and before the reality TV shows have made a spectacle of weddings everywhere. It was before 9-11. So, as far as I am concerned, it was magical, if simply because the towers were still standing, and the whole world was before us, and I was engaged and deeply in love.

I never started out as a label whore. Honestly. I found an elegant and simple dress at a low-key store in my hometown. Not too wedding-y. But as the guest list grew (250), the solemnity of the ceremony (Full Mass) and the outline of the reception (on the Potomac River) began to come into focus, and the magic grew…. I found myself falling for the princess-for-a-day thing. Head over Manolo Blahniks. My fiancé was supportive and silent – “the perfect groom”, so my friends said.

I will never forget entering the hushed silence of the Vera Wang boutique in the Watergate building on the banks of the Potomac. My mother was promptly seated in a delicate and plush settee, while the winsome sales lady brought frothy confections one by one for our inspection…. carrying each one as if it were a newborn baby. I couldn’t believe it was happening, but I found myself in a strapless, silk dress, with a delicate simple bow streaming down the back (a bow that would later adorn my babies christening gown)…it was the essence of simplicity and elegance. I began to envision a sparkling headpiece… subtle, Swavorski, Princess.

And so it was done. Each fitting scheduled months in advance. My groom and I would travel from New York to Washington to take care of wedding details, our schedules dictated by the “fittings.” My mother and I would make our trips to the Watergate for these hard to get appointments. A little Italian seamstress with white gloves would soon be kneeling and crawling around “the dress” her hands weaving in and out tugging, pulling, straightening till perfection was achieved. My waist was shrinking as each week went by. “It happens to all of our brides” my beautiful saleslady sing-songed to me in the 6-way mirror. All the while, my mother would be sipping Pellegrino from a cut crystal tumbler. I watched her pouring over the Vera Wang literature on the coffee table… it was a book describing Wang’s design “aesthetic” and her mission to deconstruct the wedding dress and present to her clients the most sophisticated, refined designs. Dresses for blasé fashionistas who may wear skinny jeans and a studded belt during the week, but for just one day, could indulge themselves in every little girl’s fantasy. Princess for a day. Wang made it okay for a modern, accomplished bride to forget to be jaded, sarcastic or suspicious. A Vera Wang wedding was not cheesy, tacky or cliché. But refined, special, and unique. I was totally on board.

The wedding was spectacular. A truly elegant Southern celebration. And my dress… so perfect! So exclusive! A Vera! And oh yes, my groom! Handsome. Sublime. Dark navy suit, and blue tie the same color as his eyes. He even had to wipe a tear away as I walked down the aisle. A dream come true - thank you, Vera! And so we began our life together. It was unique, simple, one of a kind. Just like my dress. Or so I thought. We drove to California to start a new life out there. Our first morning there was September 11, 2001.

The years ticked by and it was never a dull moment. I won’t bore you with the details, but we moved back East. We bought a house. He decided he wanted to go to graduate school. I decided to support him, and invest in our future. I worked the whole time, he did not. I began to notice that Vera Wang started a perfume line, quickly followed by a china pattern line through Wedgewood. She became more accessible, more… pedestrian.

Then, surprise! I was pregnant. And he had to get a job - quick (insurance issues.) Then a miracle. He got a fantastic job at a fortune 500 company. I felt the magic of life clicking in to place – the magic and enchantment that I felt certain on my wedding day would be mine forever and the future was coming into focus for the first time in a while. I could not tell if the butterflies in my stomach were acknowledgement that we were operating under an enchanted star or it was the baby kicking me, trying to wake me from my dream.

The new job required that we move around the country every 6 months for 2 years. Every wedding we went to in the interim, I noticed that all the brides had strapless simple sheath style dresses. “But it was not a Vera,” I would smugly note to myself. But I was a bit mystified at how bride after bride looked ravishing in dresses so similar to my own that the differences were essentially undetectable. I began to feel not so special and unique. I began to feel the pinch of marital sacrifice (moving every six months), compromising (sure I’ll support you and pay for your graduate degree) and not so special (so tired, so pregnant, so fat).

When our firstborn was just over a year, we moved back East to my hometown thanks to some clever chess moves by my husband. How he made it work, I never knew, again I attributed it to the magic of our marriage and enchanted destiny. But later would figure out it was just another one of his manipulations and his “beating the system.” Ignorance is bliss.

It was about here that I noticed that Vera Wang was now putting her name to mattresses and lingerie. Quickly followed by a ready-to-wear line. By now, I was pregnant again. Keeping up with an active toddler, trying to keep morning sickness at bay. I felt like now that exclusive cache that was promised me by Vera Wang, and the hushed silence of the boutique, the weight of the cut crystal tumblers, the stunning sales lady had all but disappeared.

Now I was like everyone else in the world. My droopy maternity clothes were from Target, my forays out of the house were dictated by my baby’s dirty diapers, and I was lucky if I could squeeze a shower in and stay up until my husband came home, which averaged 9.30 or 10:00 these days. I felt like Gabby from Desperate Housewives during the episodes that she was painful to watch because she looked like the rest of us. Stringy hair, cargo pants, flats. I could not fit into Vera’s ready to wear line if I tried, as the baby and my belly were growing and growing.

We became a family of four. I was so happy and so exhausted! My husband began to disappear from the landscape completely: London, Dubai, Rome. Pages had to be added to his passport. I was struggling, drowning. A baby in the Baby Bjorn and one in the stroller. A baby in the high chair, a baby at my breast. Size 5 diapers, and size 2 diapers. Vera who? Yes, those were busy days indeed. But the fog finally began to clear. But I also began sending my friends Vera Wang baby gifts, silver music boxes and picture frames. Again, her line was spreading like milk from a leaking sippy cup.

I began to notice ads on TV as Christmas approached, and I had wrangled the babies into a schedule, with a 7.00 bedtime. I was wiling away the evening hours, trying to stay up to talk to my husband who was still returning at 10:00 on average. I would watch TV, folding stacks of onesies after having taken the time to primp, fix my make up and get in hundreds of sit-ups. I began to notice Vera Wang clothes being advertised at a deep deep discount at Kohl’s. I thought wistfully about my elegant pristine dress, now converted to a knee length cocktail dress, tucked safely away in my closet just waiting for my nursing days to be over so my body would go back to tiny. But at the same time, I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. She was not what she seemed during my engagement and on my wedding day so many years ago. Vera Wang on sale at Kohl’s? Not special, not unique, not private. Utterly mass market.

This was days before Christmas Day. A day I entered into with happiness and anticipation. My babies were barely three, and just under one. But life had been getting so much easier, my husband promised me he would be around more after our next move, to take place in only three weeks. This time to Paris! I could be myself again…finally. Speaking French, my two gorgeous sons, my hardworking husband. We would have more money, an au pair, I could work or go back to school – anything! My husband and I would reconnect; the magic of our courtship, our engagement, our wedding, my Vera Wang dream would be recaptured in the pure white splendor that I had anticipated since entering the plush, silent boutique so many years ago.

And then I became like thousands of other wives, when I picked up his Blackberry on Christmas Day. “Just a minute my love” I sang to the baby in the high chair…” I think it is your grandparents wishing you a Merry First Christmas...”

And there it was…the text from my husband’s assistant that changed my life, “I love you. - Lou”

And we all became one big cliché:  My husband, a cheater. Vera Wang, a sell out. Me, just plain shocked. 

One evening he came by after I had put the baby to sleep and I was sitting on the sofa with my older son watching a Thomas movie with him snuggled in a blanket next to me. Lousy gave a cursory hello, and went straight upstairs to our room. I followed him a few minutes later to see what all the clanking and crashing was. I found him in the closet, chucking stuff onto the bed. The clanking was the wooden hangers that he insisted on using for all of his clothes (“no wire hangers!!!”) and they were the hangers that my brother had bought for him for Christmases past. Lousy always liked to have them for his custom threads and sorbet colored shirts as copious as Jay Gatsby’s.

But I knew the real value of the hangers, the significance…not only were they expensive wooden hangers, but they were a thoughtful and considerate gift that my brother had given to my husband. I knew that Lousy no longer deserved my family’s generosity, thoughtfulness, or gifts. I entered the room and could see the flying sails of color as he flinged shirt after shirt onto our bed from the closet. I quickly began taking all the clothes off the hangers, and stacking them up. He turned to me, “What are you doing?”

 “I am taking back the hangers that my brother gave you.”

 “What am I supposed to do?” Lousy asked.

 “I am sure you will figure it out.” I reply.

 “A—hole” he calls me.

 “Excuse me?” I said in disbelief.

 “You heard me…you take my house, you take my car, you take my hangers, we can fight about the kids in court.”

On that crazy note, I just walked downstairs and sat next to my dear, innocent son and tried to pretend like I was watching the movie with him. But my eyes were stinging, my hands were shaking, and I wanted to cry and throw up all at once. But all I could do was be still and silent and concentrate on breathing. In and out. In and out. Just breathe oxygen I silently instructed my body.

A few minutes later, Lousy comes clomping down the stairs with his first load of clothes, he made several trips like this up and down the stairs, saying “awesome” dripping with sarcasm each time he dumped a new pile of clothes down on the dining room table. When he got them all downstairs he began to transport the stacks and stacks of clothes out to his car. “Awesome” was the nauseatingly sarcastic refrain after each load. He was sure to leave the door open with each trip out the door so that the freezing February air streamed over my little one and me.

Finally, I quietly slipped into the dining room, and said, “What is so awesome?” Thinking that perhaps he was sad to be leaving our marital home, the house we had renovated and restored with great precision – and at great expense – and the place where we kept our children safe and warm. That he was sad that our marriage was crumbling like a snowy avalanche that was sudden and quick and was, as I was realizing, utterly unstoppable.

Then he said “No, it is awesome that I have no hangers for my clothes. It’s okay, I will just go buy more.” He sneered at me.

I just went back to my son, too surprised and stunned by this latest bizarre blitzkrieg attack by this man that I had been so incredibly wrong about. Finally, he came to where we were sitting, gives our son a quick hug and plants a sloppy wet kiss on my mouth, and then practically runs out the door.

I took my little son upstairs, helped him brush his teeth, and went through our usual books, prayers and song routine before I tucked him in for the night. I then went back to our room. I was scared to see my closet without all those beautiful clothes that belonged to Lousy. I knew each shirt by heart - each collar cut, every beautiful thick silk tie, the fabric of every suit, the fit of each custom piece - as I had picked them all out. And when I looked in the closet, there was my little row of clothes.

And when I looked up at the top row, that I could barely reach since even the closet had been custom designed with his height in mind, I could not believe what I saw. The navy custom suit and the sky blue silk tie that he wore on our wedding day. The rest of his space was empty.

That is all that that was left of him there. The suit that we had picked out together from the pages of the Town and Country Magazine wedding issue from 2000. I still have a copy of that issue, I think.

That night I had a dream that I was laying in my bed, and I looked up and my beautiful, sweet husband was there wearing a white sweater and looking so peaceful – he looked as he did on our wedding day. He walked over to me and said I am going to give you a kiss goodbye, I have to leave, I am leaving. And he came over to me and leaned over to kiss me, and I was like “Wait, I can’t feel anything!” and then he was gone. It was one of those dreams where you are trying desperately to wake up. Finally I did, and there was sweat on my brow, and I was shivering in the cold February night. I realized that indeed, I was alone, and that that was my husband, my dream saying good bye to me as I slept.