Troll-wife almost made my divorce a lot easier the other day.  We were arguing about money.  I took $300 out of our account to pay for filing fees for my counterclaim of divorce.  We've already paid $387 on her credit card associated with her legal expenses.  I figured this was equitable.  She, however, did not.  I tried to discuss this with her rationally.  This proved to be impossible.  I became frustrated and implied that she might be retarded.  She got a grimace of rage on her face, cocked her arm back, and threatened to hit me.  You have to understand how comic this was.  I'm 11" taller than her and outweigh her by 75 pounds.  I actually got down on one knee so she could effectively hit my face and said, "I fucking dare you."

She didn't do it.  I think she thought was implying that I'd retaliate, that her attack would have little or no effect on me and I'd change her entire life in a single blow.  She'd be off of solid food and have to start all over again learning the A, B, C's.  That wasn't it at all.  I was hoping she'd leave a mark on me, I'd call the cops, and then I wouldn't have to worry about a costly custody battle to get my kids.  She'd have to take anger classes and MAYBE get supervised visitation afterwards.

She called  me lazy.  I dropped the ball and pointed out her terrible parenting.  "I'm lazy?  What the fuck have you done in the last six months?  Have you washed a dish?  One?  Have you done your kid's laundry?"

"Yes, I've washed their clothes."

"How many times in six months?"

".... I don't know."

"I do.  Once.  You've done their laundry once."  **I know because I've been documenting it**

"Have you made dinner for them?  Cooked them any meal at all in six months?  Eggos and frozen pizza don't count."

"....."

"The answer you're looking for is 'NO'.  No you haven't.  You're nothing.  You're a total non-entity.  You're not a wife.  You're not a mother.  You're hardly even fucking human.  You exist for nobody but yourself.  You just spend all of our money on getting your pussy waxed, hair colored, nails done, spray tanned, and the rest at the Cosmopolitan Chandelier Lounge and contribute nothing."

"Maybe you should ask all of those cunts you're fucking how much money they spend on themselves every month."

"Woah... I think you're overestimating my continued swinging lifestyle.  I'm only seeing one person right now, I prefer it that way.  But I can tell you for a fact that nobody I've been with has spent $70 a month to get their pussy waxed.  That's a start.  And why are they 'cunts'?  You don't know who I'm with."

"Why do you call the guys I'm with doucebags then?"

"I don't call them douchebags.  I call them VACUOUS douchebags.  Because you meet them at dance clubs and bars.  What kind of guy are you going to meet there?  Okay, I'm making assumptions.  That's not fair.  They might not be vacuous douchebags... but I'd bet money on it."

"Don't you fucking talk to me.  I'm done.  Don't you fucking talk to me."

"It hurts because it's true.  I'm right, aren't I?"

This is where she threatened to hit me.  The look or primal rage on her face was fascinating.

When I continued to try to talk about spending, she actually put her fingers in her ears.  Instead of doing the customary "la, la, la, la, la" to make me unhearable, she continuously pushed her fingers in and out of her ears.  I tried it later, it's pretty effective, but it's uncomfortable. 

She was on the couch, doing the ear/finger thing, waiting for me to go away.  I'm content to sit there, on the arm of the couch, until the end of time if necessary, and watch her act like an infant.  She kept it up for an impressively long time.  When she couldn't continue anymore, I picked up the converstation exactly where I'd stopped.  She retreated to her room.

She fucked off for two days.

The second day, she texted me that she was going to watch the kids Saturday, make them dinner, and I should not be home.  Fine, let her try to act like a parent for once.

She arrived at 5:10 pm on Saturday.  I fucked off at 5:11.  Lisa's daughter is about to leave for college, so she was busy spending as much quality time with her as possible.  No girlfiend to hang around with, so I worked out for a long time at the club, spending time on the goddamn eliptical stair climber machines I fucking hate to kill time.  I showered at the club, got something to eat, and then met a friend to see the lousey Green Lantern movie.

I returned home just before 10:00, figuring that was enough alone time with the kids for troll-wife.  When I got home, she wasn't there.  The kids were alone in the house playing video games.

"Where's your mother?"

Son:  "I don't know."

Daughter:  "I think she's at the store getting stuff for dinner."

"It's fucking 10:00.  Has she even been home?"

Daughter took over the conversation for my son: "Yeah, she's been here."

"What did you guys do?"

"I don't know."

"Did she talk to you?  Did you watch a movie?  Did you play a game?  Did she do anything with you?"

"No.  I think she went to go workout."

** I know that's bullshit because that's where I was **

She comes bee-bopping back into the house about then with groceries to BEGIN making meatballs at 10:00 pm.

She says "I didn't expect you home."

"I fucking live here.  Where else would I be?"

"I thought you were going out."

"I did, that was almost five hours ago."

I retreated to the bedroom to read.  I didn't want to battle in front of the kids.

Eventually I heard a door slam and came out of my bedroom/cave.

"Could you help me with your daughter?  She refuses to help make dinner."

My daughter was in her room, hiding behind her bunkbed so my wife couldn't find her if she looked.  I had to coax her out like she was a little animal.  She didn't want meatballs (my son doesn't eat them either) and didn't want to spend time with troll-wife.  "She just doesn't understand that this divorce is a big fucking deal to me.  She just pretends there's nothing wrong.  It's like she doesn't even realize that she's never here anymore and that there's anything wrong."

I told troll-wife that daughter was in bed and didn't want to cook at 10:30 at night.  She was tired.  I guess this was a lie, at best a half truth.  It makes me sick that I lie to her now.  The fact that I tell her convenient lies instead of hard truths to not battle in front of the kids is really discouraging me now.  I should have said "Your daughter wants nothing to do with you because you're fucking toe-jam and you've done too much damage to your relationship with her to merit making dinner she doesn't like past her bedtime."

The meatballs were shit.  They have a spongey consistancy and fall apart when you try to cut them.  The outside tastes scorched because she burned some of the breadcrumbs in the pan when she tried to brown them before baking.  The kids won't eat them.  I fucking tried.  They're nasty in both sandwiches and pasta.

Fuck troll-wife.