One day in 2012 my ex-husband didn’t recognize me.
I was in The Stepford Knolls the other day, running late so I didn’t make it to the school on time and had to swing by Ward and Alexis Fabulous House In The Suburbs to fetch the younger lad. Did I mention I was tardy because I had just replaced my Trailer Trash Blonde look (really dark roots against brassy washed out blonde) for the “OMG THAT IS BLONDE! are you a trophy wife? number 5” look. Ward was pulling out of the driveway and the man–who has known me for almost a quarter century–did a double take. Not a “how YOU doin'” double take” (that would be icky and not worthy a blog entry). But a “Holy cow my ex-wife is freakin’ BLONDE!” double take.
Ward is often my nemesis but having not laid eyes on him in four months (for real, it’s been lovely) or spoken to him in a week (again, heaven), I was feeling chatty and so he stopped when he figured out the blonde in the blue MINI van was his harpy ex-wife and rolled down his window:
“Hey! I didn’t recognize you! You are…wow…really blonde.”
“Yeah, it’s bright. I just had it redone today so it’s EXTRA blonde.”
“So um…are ya’ having a personal crisis or something?!”
Hardy-har har Ward. This remark is coming from a sixty-something year old man who drives a convertible and happens to have a seventeen year old son.
“Hilarious, you are one to talk! If you remember correctly I was your midlife crisis!”