I threw my copy of Eat Pray Love at the wall where it hit with a satisfying th-wunk before sliding down to the floor where it lay, looking lonely and abused.
"Screw you Elizabeth Gilbert," I said to the empty room, "You may have gotten to run away from your divorce, but the rest of us have to stay and deal with the men we leave."
The men who transform into gigantic walking, talking asshats because their precious pride is wounded.
I wiggled my freshly painted blue toes at the ceiling. My feet were resting against the white iron headboard of a full sized bed I'd had since high school--the only thing left in the world that truly belonged to me and hadn't come from a life I built with the wrong someone.
My best friend's toddler waddled into her former playroom and climbed up to sit next to me. I wrinkled my nose. What was that smell?
"I needs a diaper Aunt Jenn Jenn," the tiny tot announced.
I raised my eyebrows, "No kidding."
I grabbed a diaper from the stack in the floor and pulled down her britches. "Oh good god that's gross!" I said. Stevie giggled. I wish I was in Bali.
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