Wannabe Martha

Still trying to figure out which Martha

I am not a Guy!

Today I cried in the insurance office.  I bought my Explorer in August; sold my Jeep the very next day.  The insurance company never removed the Jeep, so today when the payment came out, well, let’s just say it was considerably more than expected.

So I went over to the local office to make them fix it and they were extremely apologetic.  And they took the Jeep off the policy.  But they could not do anything about the draft that hit today.  And I got upset.  Really upset.  So upset that I started crying.  And then I felt really stupid so I cried even more.  It kind of freaked out the people in the insurance office.  Actually it kind of freaked me out too.

The H would not have cried.  He would have done this weird quiet, scary, angry thing. Probably because he is a guy.  And I’m not.

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The Earth Does NOT Open Up and Swallow You Whole

I need a category of just how many more awkward encounters can I have before I explode.

Saturday I bought a new (to me) car.  From the H.  He’s a very good salesman and he knew I was looking for something to replace my very high mileage Jeep.  I really like the vehicle – only 5 years old, low mileage and perfect payment.  A win all the way around.

So I’m sitting in the finance office because you know – loan paperwork and all.  And it occurs to me that I don’t know if the loan officer realizes that I’m actually still (technically) married to the salesman.  Well, we get to a point where I had some question and the Finance guy calls the H in over the loudspeaker.  The H comes into the office and we clarify the item in question.  He gets out the door and then I hear her.  It’s the GF.  They both come back into the Finance office.  I plaster a pleasant smile on my face. The H says “Hey, (let’s call her) Autumn wants to show you some boots.”  “Great” I answer.  “Autumn” strolls in, “I was just dropping off lunch to him” smile, smile, smile, “You have to see these boots…they are the cutest… ABC Department store has them on sale!”  Her cell phone is shoved in my face with a picture of (I have to admit) very cute boots;  I nod and admire and agree they are wonderful.

Finance guy is taking it all in and comments, ‘Wow (name of H), you really have the best of both worlds here.”  I immediately realize that the Finance guys things we’re divorced and the only way he could think that is that it’s been alluded to that we are divorced and that the H is married to the GF and that we’re all ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY.

I’m thinking to myself, “Please Dear God in Heaven, let the earth just open up and swallow me whole.”  Apparently, my demise was not on His agenda for the day.  We all smile through the awkwardness (I’m not sure if the Finance guy realized the blunder or not), the H ushers the GF away, and I finally finish all my paperwork and drive away with my new vehicle (which I really do love).

Now one would think that this would sort of be the end of things.  And it would be, if “one” were not “me”.  Two days later, I am back at the dealership because I need help with some paperwork – I am selling my Jeep to my BF (that would be Best Friend) who needs something for errands, etc., and the Jeep is perfect.  The H has a bill of sale and all the stuff we need to make the transaction happen.  BF and I head up to dealership.  We enter and ask for the H.  The guy turns to me and asks my name, and then when I tell him, he says to me, “oh, are you his wife?”  And I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY!  BF elbows me, so I just smile and say “yes” – which is true, of course.

Anyway, the H comes out and helps us fill out our docs and then we leave.  I didn’t say anything to him about telling the other salesperson I was his wife.  I guess he must have figured it out.  I’m going to make a huge exception to my standard rule and NOT get all guilty over it.

Also, I tore a giant hole in the tire of my new car on the same day I bought it, but that’s another story.  Also, the earth did not swallow me whole for that either.

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Sacred and Profane

I’m not sure exactly why this particular memory keeps shoving at my present consciousness, but it just seems to have taken up primary residence and won’t go away.  Maybe I can bleed it out through my fingers.  I don’t know.

Sunday evening and we’re attending Mass because, well, we just were.  And not at our regular parish, because they don’t have Sunday evening Mass.  I don’t especially care for the church we’re going to, but for the occasional Mass, I can handle it.  For reasons too complicated to get into here, the H and his GF and the baby are attending also.  With us.  OK.  We start to walk in from our car, and I hear a shout and turn around.  There’s the H, hand in hand with the GF, carrying the baby, calling for us to wait for him.

Iseult turns dead white and grabs my hand hard.  Angharad gets an ever-more familiar steely look on her face.  I grip their hands and smile at H as best I can.

We enter church and slide into a pew:  Me, Iseult, Angharad, the H, the GF and the baby sort of toddling around between everyone.  Not the most comfortable of situations, but everyone is welcome at Mass and you just suck it up.

The Mass starts and the baby provides some distraction as she move from person to person.  The Liturgy of the Word begins – there is a certain irony to this week’s readings.  We’re all terribly grateful for the baby’s antics.

Finally it’s time for the sermon.   Now, I know this Priest.  There is every chance that he can ramble off on some tangent completely unrelated to the readings and we’ll all get through the Mass just fine.  Except this week, Father is more than inspired by the readings and launches into a loud and fervent homily.  Everyone in our pew literally turns to stone.  Finally, the GF gets up, grabs her daughter and leaves.  Some few minutes later, the H’s cell vibrates gently.  He leans across both girls to me and mouths “I guess I have to go.”  I nod – I mean, really what am I going to do?  We’re in the middle of a nearly packed church.

Finally it’s just the girls and me sitting there.  Iseult turns and whispers to me, “well, that certainly was awkward.”  NO KIDDING!  YA THINK?

The homily drags on.  Finally it’s the Liturgy of the Eucharist (usually my favorite part), but I’m in basket case mode.  As it’s time for Communion, I keep thinking to myself, “Maeve, you SIP the Blood of Christ.  You DO NOT grab the chalice and gulp, swig, or guzzle the Blood of Christ.”

At last Mass is over.  I feel like I’ve been through a wringer.  As we’re walking our car, Iseult comments, “You know, I don’t really like the way the Host tastes at this church.”  As I’m trying to reconcile what I’ve just heard come out of this child’s mouth, Angharad says, “are you saying God is tastier at our church?  Really?”  They start to argue about the relative taste of the Host at various churches.  Finally I gather my wits about me and shout “it’s completely profane to be discussing God’s tastiness!  What’s wrong with you people?”

Angharad turn to me and says, “Mom, I don’t think God’s going to get all hellfire and brimstone just because we let loose a little.  I mean come on – what were the chances that Dad and “her” would all be with us for a Mass focused on ADULTERY?  Ya don’t think He had something to do with this one?  And who knew Father would actually stick to, you know, the actual topic of the readings, cos this must be a FIRST for him!”

I think I’m just going to have to say an awful lot of rosaries.

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