She went to the movies tonight.  It was that movie she was too tired to go see with me last week, right before she went out for 5 1/2 hours.  Her plan was to go to the 8:45 showing.  It was 8:20 when she left, but the theatre is less than 25 minutes away, and she has always, always claimed that it doesn’t really matter to her where her seat is, and that it doesn’t bother her to miss the 10-15 minutes of previews before the film, so she had plenty of time.

I’m guess whoever she decided to not tell me about couldn’t get there in time for the 8:45 showing, because she sent me a text at 9:38 that she was going to the 10:00 show.  Even with lengthy ads and staying for the full credits, she could have easily been home about 35 minutes ago.

It’s been pretty blatant that she no longer loves me.  I am, however, still in love with her.  Technically speaking, I am still her husband.  It would be kind of nice if she could at least pretend to still respect me, or even pretend to stand to be around me.

It would also be nice if I felt I deserved any of that love, respect and tolerance I so crave.

The honest truth is that my wife is a stunningly beautiful woman with a sharp mind, a quick wit, and a knockout body.  If she put her mind to it she could have almost any man out there, and quite a few of the women.  At least short term.  I have heard from multiple sources, including her, that she is quite difficult to get along with in the long term.  Unfortunately, the idea that any extra-marital relationship she may be pursuing is probably doomed does not really make me feel any better.

Some would say that I should just move on with my life.  She has already told me that she wants a divorce once we are both finished with school.  I should try to find someone else myself.  Unfortunately, that is not feasable.

While my wife is blessed in the Being-Attractive-to-Others Department, I am not.  Aside from my paunch, which I could theoretically lose, I also have a growing bald spot in my thinning, grey hair, and I am gifted with oily skin that looks as though I lost a wrestling match with a cheese grater.  Should I finally lose these last pesky 80 pounds, I will still be a balding, greasy freak.

A friend told me last week that I can be quite charming.  This friend was lying to himself if he thinks that my style of charm can be of any help in meeting someone.  I have a very slow burning, long-term type of charm.  People generally know me for quite a while before they realize that they actually do like me.  When they first meet me, though, guys think I’m a weirdo and women consider me creepy. 

So I am stuck, simmering in my own lonliness and self-loathing.  It make for a very stinky cologne.


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