I’m not afraid of spiders anymore
My parents have been married for 33 years. I was married for 3 days. Everyone; my parents, my siblings, my friends, even the wedding planner told me not to go through with the wedding. Why didn’t I listen?
Our fights were not normal fights. They would usually start with me just being me, but saying or doing something Miranda didn’t like. Like the time I really didn’t feel eating sushi again and I asked, “Could we order Chinese or cook a steak?” You would have thought I spilled a bottle of soy sauce over her head or stabbed her in the eye with the pointed end of a T-bone.
“Why do you always disagree with me?” I can’t describe the emphasis she always placed on the word always. It was octaves higher and decibels louder and was as cringe worthy to me as nails on a blackboard. My spontaneous reaction was a dead giveaway to her; the wrinkled nose pinching my eyes shut; the clenched jaw. Any obvious negative change in my demeanor would prompt her to say something like, “You’re such a loser. You don’t deserve me. If I leave you, you will be alone for the rest of your life.”
The thought of me being alone was particularly disturbing and always silenced me into obedience since my one and only girlfriend before Miranda, my childhood sweetheart, Amy, broke up with me after I forgave her for cheating on me. The experience left me with serious abandonment issues and when the one and only, blond, busty, beguiling Miranda Murphy said yes when I got up the courage to ask her out, I promised myself I would do whatever it took to make our relationship work. “Teddy has hit the lotto with Miranda,” my guy friends said at first, until they got to know her.
As we continually fought about everything, or should I say, she fought with me, especially about the wedding plans, I delusionally rationalized that things would get better. They did not. At one point my parents weren’t even going to come to the wedding because of all the nonsense. My parents were told they could invite 20 people including my immediate family, and when they offered to pay for additional guests, they were told there wasn’t enough room at the venue. We wanted my niece and nephew in the wedding party and we were told by Miranda there were to be no children at the wedding. My family has celiac disease and we were told we should eat before we come or bring gluten free snacks. I could go on, but bringing up all these memories just gives me a headache.
What I really need to get off my chest is what happened at the wedding. Miranda really did make a stunning bride. Thankfully, my parents agreed to attend; a gratitude I would come to regret. They were there; albeit begrudgingly, two tables of ten in the back of the oblong hall, no kids, no gluten free meals. We as a family like to think we let things roll off our backs and move on with dignity and we were doing just that until it came time for the bride to cut the cake. When I lifted the small piece of cake towards Miranda’s tight mouth, I was feeling a bit confident as my friend Justin yelled, “Smash it in her face!” Justin is my best friend and whatever confidence I had through the years emerged mainly because of his encouragement. So smash I did. It’s tradition, right? I’ve seen it performed at so many weddings; the wiping and smashing of cake. Funny haha. Lol....Oops. I apparently had a momentary lapse of judgment because I had forgotten that Miranda told me the week before the wedding, “Listen to me. I am very particular about my makeup. Do not. I repeat, do not pull a bull shit stunt on me and shove cake in my face. Do you hear me? Do you understand?” I don’t remember if I said, “Yes dear,” or if I just shook my head afirmatively. I was just so happy at the wedding; the nuptials, the compliments, the beautiful flowers and pomp and circumstance, that all I focused on in the moment were the words of my best friend Justin. What was I thinking? I grabbed a chunk of cake and wiped it ever so gingerly, so I thought, across Miranda’s luscious lips.
What happened next is pretty much like a nightmare dream sequence to me now. We were almost leaning against the wall behind the beautiful 7 layer silver and gold cake. Next thing I know, right after the smear, Miranda literally whacks her head against the wall, like a crazy WWF stunt and screams out “Did you see that everyone? He punched me in the face. Call 911.”
Truthfully, I thought I had seen her at her worst, but in this moment she looked at me with these Freddy Krueger demon eyes and before I could get out the words, “WTF”, she hauled off a right hook between my eyes, literally bouncing me off the same wall she just whacked her head on seconds before, leaving me speechless, bloody and dazed. I dropped to my knees and crawled under the wedding party table wiping my nose with my rented blue tux until I noticed a linen napkin on the floor. I picked it up and pressed it against my schnoz, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The room became deafeningly quiet; no music, no forks clanging glasses, except for Miranda’s whimpering and the voice of her mother on the phone with 911.
“What do I do ?” I pondered in pain. Could I hide under table for like....forever?”
My father, the good negotiator that he is, was able to talk Miranda’s mother into giving him the phone and when he told the 911 operator what really happened, she told him with sarcasm to wish me good luck with my marriage. He handed the phone back to Miranda’s mother and with prompting she apparently relinquished her request to 911.
How long was I under the table? Couldn’t say. Not long enough. It was Justin that climbed under there with me and somewhat convinced me that the inebriated crowd would forget all about the cake fiasco. He handed me his monogrammed flask filled with Jack Daniels that I had gifted him for being my groomsman and I took a long swig, hoping the brown liquid would wash away the shame. I wanted to believe him, but not even I am that naive. What choice did I have? The band was playing again and my legs were beginning to cramp.
When Justin pulled me up and out, who was waiting for me at our table? Cruella Deville, aka Miranda. She was just sitting there by herself eating the tainted wedding cake. “Oh there you are, silly. You didn’t think I was serious about the 911 call, did you? Just kidding. Go wash up. You look a fright.”
“Yeah I do bitch, because you punched me in the face, and gave me a nose bleed but worse than that you put on a deranged performance for our 200 guests, falsely accusing me of spousal abuse,” I wanted to scream but didn’t.
With my head down and tail between my legs I hobbled awkwardly to the men’s room. Justin followed me in and said. “Dude. That was scary. Do you think you can get an annulment?”
“I don’t know what to think right now Justin. Let me clean up, get back out there, get this wedding over with and hopefully I’ll clear my head and decide what to do next after a good night’s sleep.”
Miranda convinced me to forget about what happened with whispers of what she was going to do to me back at the hotel bridal suite. Honestly, in spite of what happened, I wanted what she promised, even though I wasn’t sure I could produce the tool necessary to receive her offer. It worked and I received; fell asleep and dreamt about dancing with my ex Amy. There was no one else on the dance floor but the two of us and I knew no one named Miranda. I woke up with a hangover and felt as if I had just been sentenced by a judge to life in prison. The reason I didn’t get up and run like Forest Gump was that my legs felt like Jell-O, in particular because I knew up until now, Miranda had rendered me spineless. Could I break free? Could I find the strength to dump her?
It gets worse, but not right away. Late morning of Day 2 of my life sentence, we leave for Acapulco; 7 nights, 8 days, all inclusive. My parents paid for the honeymoon as a wedding gift and I was going, with or without Miranda. She woke up uncharacteristically as Susie Sunshine and I thought to myself, “Just roll with it.” We had an easy travel experience and it was one of the most pleasant days of our relationship, because as soon as we got to the resort, we put on our bathing suits and spent the rest of the day by the wave pool. The alcohol was flowing and we met some cool people (so I thought), followed by a lobster dinner waterside and then dancing. For a moment I thought, this whole thing might just work out.
We woke up on Day 3 of my life sentence and it was raining. We ordered room service and after we ate I told Miranda I was going down to the gym. When I got to the door of the gym I realized I couldn’t get in without my room key. It was a bit of a hike back to the hotel room, but “No big deal.” I thought. “Extra exercise.”
The do not disturb sign was hanging on the door to our room and I thought Miranda must be showering. I knocked and I thought I heard a man’s voice say, “Oh shit.”
“Must be the guy in the next room,” I thought. I knocked louder and was sure I heard scuffling inside our room and Miranda’s voice utter go hide in the bathroom. She finally answered the door with a towel wrapped around her and said, “Sorry honey. What are you doing back so fast? I didn’t expect you for at least an hour. I was taking a shower.”
“Were you?” I retorted and then ruminated in silence, “Stop. Don’t let your mind go there Teddy. It’s just your abandonment issues playing a mind F###.”
“I forgot my room card and I can’t get into the gym without it.” I went to reach for the card next to my wallet on the desk and I couldn’t help but notice the embossed brown leather wallet that was not mine; not Miranda’s. “Who’s wallet is this?” I pushed my finger into it to prove it was not a figment of my imagination.
“What are you talking about? I don’t know. Maybe the previous guest left it, or the guy that brought us our room service dropped it there by mistake. Don’t ask me.”
I just stared at her and was afraid of the next move I knew I had to make. As I turned, she said, “Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom,” I replied, knowing I didn’t have to pee.
“Don’t go in there.” She snapped. “I think I saw a big spider in there and I know you don’t like spiders.”
She was right. I don’t, but my fear didn’t stop me even when Miranda jumped in front of me. I pushed her aside like I was a Black Friday shopper.
“Get out of my way bitch.” Yeah. I said that.
My heart was beating louder than a coo-coo clock when my hand turned the door knob. “Don’t punch me.” Wave pool guy said. And I didn’t. All I said was “Get out.” That’s it. He did.
As soon as I heard the click of the hotel room door, I turned towards Miranda with the composure of Mozart and slapped her across the face, not as hard as I wanted to, but less than she deserved.
Then I cautioned like a Michael Cohen wannabe, with an authority and clarity that I didn’t know was in me, “This is what’s going down. You are going to get dressed, pack your bags, and go to the airport and fly home. I am going to stay here and enjoy the vacation bought and paid for by my parents. When I get back, the minute I land I’m filing for an annulment and if you try to F### with me whatsoever, you will be sorry. I never want to see you again. You’ve got one hour to be out of here. She started crying and her cheek was beginning to swell, reminding me of my triumphant slap. “Oh, and if you tell anyone I slapped you, I will vehemently deny it and post naked pictures of you all over the internet. Don’t think for a second I can’t gather up plenty of people that will testify on my behalf that you have already made a false domestic assault accusation. Do you understand me bitch?”
She shook her head yes, and I stepped out of the hotel room and away from Miranda for good. With my room card in hand, walking as tall as LeBron James back to the hotel gym, I got there before my legs did, sat down in front of the weight machine and pumped iron like a mother f##### for the best hour I’d spent in a very long time.