Move Aside, Proust: The Ex-Wife Speaks

the ex speaks

When I’m feeling particularly miserable and powerless, I check to see if the Ex-Wife has written a new column in her neighborhood paper.  It never makes me feel better, but I am often rewarded by my favorite tropes, like references to Shakespeare or her bikinis and mini-skirts of yore.

“Of yore” is the type of expression that makes her writing such a joy. Reading the latest offering, a Proustian recollection of her childhood summers, I wonder why I can’t write like this. I mean, I had an Ice Cream truck, too. I went to summer camp, just like she did. But in my memories, I just bought the ice cream and ate it. At camp, it felt like I was being tortured by mean strangers and bees. It was a nightmare.

Anyway, take a look for yourself.

No bikini or mini-skirt but at least we get crop tops and “peddel pushers.”

Try thinking about your childhood for a minute, just as a mental exercise. Was it a diaphanous reverie filled with running and laughing and blue ribbons? Maybe that’s why I hate her.

My childhood was like a black and white horror movie. I don’t enjoy dredging up memories. One memory I do like is making snail hospitals. I loved putting the snails on cotton balls, their hospital beds, in a ward made from one of my mom’s shoe-boxes. They never got better, because they weren’t sick until I started fucking with them.

The snails probably had better childhoods than mine, and you know what? I’ll bet they were better writers than the Ex.

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13 Responses to Move Aside, Proust: The Ex-Wife Speaks

  1. Mary Liz says:

    She doesn’t get paid for writing this tripe, does she?

    Glad you have good memories of your snail hospitals. As a kid, I tried to save dying flies who’d been inefficiently attacked by a flyswatter. I gave them breadcrumbs, watched them nibble, grieved when they died.

  2. Sister Wolf says:

    Mary Liz – First good laugh of the day. I love you so much for this.

  3. Penny says:

    I couldn’t read past the first couple of paragraphs in her column, what a load of boring shite. Roared my head off at the thought of snails being placed on cotton wool balls; how sweet is that? I used to pour salt on slugs and watch them explode (this was 4o plus years ago……I know better now).

  4. Max page says:

    I can only dream that she was molested by that angel of an ice cream man…. #MAGA

  5. Romeo says:

    “At camp, it felt like I was being tortured by mean strangers and bees.” My camp was like that too except it also had indoctrination sessions about original sin, Old Testament plagues, and the importance of accepting Jesus Christ into your heart as your personal lord and savior. Meanwhile, the Christians sprayed me in the face with aerosol cleaners and flushed my shoes down the toilet.

    Mom and dad: I hope your week of uninterrupted fucking was worth my week of total horror and fear. But I bet your parents fucked you up too much with your own unmitigated horror and fear to figure out how to fuck adequately.

  6. Sister Wolf says:

    Penny – Well of course, slugs got the salt here too. We can’t all be snails, can we?

    Max Page – You are projecting. But I know it would have been “wondrous.”

    Romeo – Ha, same, only my camp was Jewish camp, with constant prayers and candles and all kinds of bullshit I didn’t understand or want to understand. No one would talk to me, not even my sister. Our parents are war criminals.

  7. Tom Isenberg says:

    Sister Wolf, I’ll leave the ex-wife stuff to you. As for overnight camp, yes, a nightmare incarnate. “At camp, it felt like I was being tortured by mean strangers and bees. It was a nightmare.” And my parents promised me I could come home after a week if I didn’t like it. Of course, a lie. Then told at halftime visitors day I could leave. Again, had to stay until the bitter end of 2 months. But not only strangers, but a good friend who I went with turned on me and got the whole bunk against me.

    The only saving grace was I loved the sugar drink at meals (so called “bug juice”) and the Sgt. Pepper’s album was released that Summer and my parents did bring me a little portable record player and the lp. Can’t say that saved the Summer, but it helped. Never loved the album (too pop-y and sugary at times, more of a “Rubber Soul,” “Abbey Road,” first side of “Magical Mystery Tour,” and “White Album” kind of guy) though did love “For The Benefit of Mr. Kite” and would listen to it over and over again.

  8. Dana says:

    Take solace in your 1000% better writing. She do like stringing on those clauses, don’t she?

  9. Sister Wolf says:

    Tom Isenberg – Do you think there are two kinds of people, the kind who were traumatized by summer camp, and the other kind????

  10. Sister Wolf says:

    Dana – I do take solace, but everyone is a better writer.

  11. Mr. Picodogg says:

    You know me, I don’t spend a lot of time looking back. I trust you’ll let me know if there is something I should know about.

  12. Suspended says:

    Did we all just torture beasties?

    We used to make puddles so that we could wash worms that were probably “sick of being dirty.” We were convinced it was a nice spa day for them. I think most drowned, or maybe their lack of animation was due to being super relaxed?

  13. blights says:

    What an extraordinary gift the Ex has to pump out prose like this, quite extraordinary. Everything just slightly out of focus. Already in first para we have “our kids bat not a eye.” Glad to hear it, as batting eyes could get very messy. She is a bit Mrs Malaprop.

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