On Meeting the Girl

My son has a new girlfriend.  This is no one's business but his, so I shouldn't be writing about it.  But I want to write about it in a different context.

I hadn't met her yet, but all of his friends have.  This is not odd, in my book.  I rarely introduced any of my boyfriends to my parents.  But my son's father has met her (of course), because he works in a restaurant, where he kisses ass all day and has a million superficial "relationships" with everyone, all the time.  Everybody likes him, because he pretends to like everybody.

Anyway, my son wanted this girl to come to dinner tonight.  I wanted to meet her independent of his father, so she came over; I shopped, I prepped, I cooked, and she had been in the house for all of about three fucking minutes when the father walked in the door.  So ... I didn't have the opportunity to actually meet her then, because the person who makes me more angry and sad than any other human being on the planet breezed through the door and took over with his bullshit small talk about NOTHING.  That's his milieu: Talking about nothing.

I hate his face.  I hate that his face gets to enter my home whenever it wants.  I hate that I'm just trying to hang out with my children, but their sperm donor keep interjecting himself where he is not invited.  Does that make me sound like a fiery bitch to divorced men?  Yes.  I don't care.  I want to parent my children without outside, bullshit interlopers.  I want so, so much for his face NOT to make me angry.  I have practiced the Art of Not Caring for about five years now, and I'm terrible at it.  He, on the other hand, is brilliant at not caring.  He is certainly not writing a blog about how much I bother him, because he just chooses not to care, and then doesn't.  In that capacity, I am quite jealous of him.

The one thing that kills me more than anything is that I can't move out, because I can't afford it.  And he will never leave, because ... well, because he doesn't have to.  And if he only comes around when it's convenient for him, then he wins.  He gets to live in the house, not pay a second rent, see his kids when he wants, ignore them when it's convenient, have a built-in housekeeper and nanny, and not have to deal with embarrassing personal questions from his friends and family.

How lovely.  What a perfect, suburban dream for everyone.