I friended Highland Park’s wife on Facebook tonight. Man, how I wish I had done that long ago. Scrolling through photos of them throughout the years was enlightening and repelling. He is not nearly as attractive as I made him out to be. At least not in her photos. He looks old and…married; Thanksgiving, cutting the turkey, holding their newborn in that newborn haze, a trip to Spain before the baby. All of it.

I felt creepy. I never wanted to want another woman’s husband, and although this situation is transparent and condoned and even encouraged, witnessing their history made it feel wrong to me.

Everything about this polyamorous experiment looks and feels different. I am not sure I want anything more to do with it. This is not me.

Shake it off, man, move on.

I feel embarrassed and slightly ashamed of the depth of my feelings, I thought, I had for him. What is real???

Fuck. Me.

Is all he did. Fucking is all we did.

He gave nothing. I gave everything. Like I always do.

There is nothing special about him to warrant that much give.

As I was putting my daughter to bed, tonight she talked about how sad she is that Daddy and I live apart. I said that was okay. I was sad too. She said, “Daddy is never sad.”

Oh dear child, welcome to the world of men.

I told her, “Daddy probably shows his feelings differently than we do.”

What I wanted to say was, “You are right, my love, that is because your father is not human and is most likely an alien or a reptile masquerading as a human. He does not experience feelings or have warm blood coursing through his veins.”

But I didn’t.



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