Hating the Boss

by Kristen Granata

My mom says that’s how you know something’s wrong: You start downplaying your unhappiness and comparing it to domestic abuse. Needless to say, I wanted this divorce. I’d been the one who’d asked for it. I’d reached my breaking point. Now I know why people call it that. You bend so much that you eventually break in half. Two parts: Who you once were, and the angry, resentful person you’ve become.

I’m an emotional eater. I eat my feelings, and unfortunately, they aren’t fat free. They taste a lot like Ben and Jerry’s.

You don’t realize how important a person’s laugh is until you’re on a date with someone whose laugh sounds like a dying mongoose.

Resentment will do that to you. It trickles into your blood like a poison, slow at first, until it’s coursing through your veins. It overrides every other feeling you have, making it impossible to see through the blurriness of anger and disappointment.

You might be embarrassed of your muffin top, but the truth is: A man doesn’t notice what’s between your tits and your pussy when you’re naked and his dick is about to be inside you.

“You did what we all do in a marriage. We want to please our husbands. We want to give them everything because we love them and we want them to be happy with us. But our husbands are supposed to give back. It’s supposed to be an equal exchange of give and take.”

“First you steal my ring, then you poison my coffee. Now you try to decapitate me. I’m starting to think you’re an assassin, Raegan.” “I was just hoping you’d wake up with amnesia.” He chuckles. “Forget you? Not a chance.”

I might not know why I’m here, but I know one thing for certain: I’ll stay here and hold her for as long as she needs me to.

Why don’t we ever run into our exes when we have our hair and make-up done? It’s like one of the laws of physics: An object that looks like trash shall run into everyone she knows while she looks like trash.

Girls physically cannot keep a secret from their besties. It’s a gene that’s missing from our DNA.

The ring thief might not have stolen the ring after all, but she did steal my heart.