The List of Claims

I learned last week that one of my oldest friends is in the throes of a disputatious divorce after a decade of marriage.  I’d known her first two husbands before those divorces, but because she’d moved abroad right after marrying the third one, I never got to know him.

On a long, trans-Atlantic phone call, my friend told me both her first and second husbands have been trying recently to renew their relationship—although she declared that fact had nothing to do with why she wanted out of her current marriage.

“After all this time, they’re only after me for their money!” she said.

She went on to tell me her lawyer had asked her to draw up a list of claims against her current husband to justify her reasons for seeking the divorce, and she wanted my opinion as to how substantive they are.

I felt compelled to tell her that, although a thrice-divorced woman myself, I did not in any way regard myself as expert in such matters.  She pooh-poohed that thought immediately.

“Nonsense!” she said.  “You left all three of them lying for dead!  If there was a hall of fame for divorcées, you’d be in it!”

I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or not, but I agreed to listen to her list.

“There are six claims,” she said.  “The first has to do with the mental anguish he causes me when he says a prayer before dinner, but only when we’re eating at home.”

“Hmm,” I said, glad she couldn’t see my face at that point, because I’ve eaten my friend’s cooking.

“The second claim is that he keeps telling people our marriage is like a three-ring circus—engagement ring, wedding ring, and suffering.”

“That’s unkind,” I cooed soothingly.  Judging from my own experience, though, that sounded about right.

“The third is about his cheapness,” my friend continued.  “He keeps telling all our friends he isn’t going to report my stolen credit card because whoever took it spends less than I do!  Can you imagine?”

I can, but didn’t say so.

“The fourth claim on my list is that he’s continually yawning when I’m talking to him, as if what I’m saying isn’t important.  And when I complain about his rudeness, he says he only opened his mouth because he thought it was his turn to speak.”

I ventured to reply, but she carried on uninterrupted.

“I mean, it’s not as if I don’t try,” she said.  “Last weekend, I made some delicious hors d’oeuvres, poured us each a glass of expensive wine, and lit the candles on the mantel.  When he sat down and started munching, I heard him say, ‘I love you.’  So I asked him jokingly if that was him or the wine talking, and he said it was him talking to the wine.  And that sort of insult is the subject of my fifth claim.”

“Must have been good wine,” I murmured.

“The last straw, though, happened just the other day when I decided to make one last effort to save our marriage.  I suggested we both dress up in our fanciest clothes and go out for an evening of fun.”

“That does sound perfect,” I agreed.  “So how’d it go?”

“Well, he absolutely loved the idea,” my friend said.  “But when he left, he told me to leave the front porch light on if I got back before he did.”

“And did you?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?” she cried.  “He’s still not back!”

“He’s not back?” I said.  “Aren’t you worried?”

“I am,” she said.  “If he’s gone and died, I could be wasting a lot of money on this divorce lawyer!”

“Oh, that’s terrible!” I said.

“I know, I know,” she said. “It means I’ll have to learn how to use the TV remote!”

_{© J. Bradley Burt 2022}