What About God?

“But you’re the only guy I've never cheated on!”

And there it was again. That upturned lower lip, that strained redness in her eyes, and those tears. Those god damned tears.

I remembered how much those poorly-applied-makeup streaked streams of manipulation used to drive me nuts, and almost couldn't help but revel in their pitiful ineffectiveness.

“What do you want?” I started, unable to contain my scorn, “A medal, or a dang lollipop?”

 “But…”

I laughed. I couldn't contain it. There she stood, face all contorted in a woefully lame attempt to elicit compassion; trying to use the same tired tactics she had used for the entire 8 years we were together.

“You’re not supposed to cheat!” I threw my hands in the air and shook my head in disdain. “And you know as well as I do that it’s only because the opportunity never presented itself.”

 “I would never cheat on you!” The whine in her tone didn't work on her ex, and it certainly wasn't about to work on me.

“Really? And what about the pastor of the church in Sciotoville?”

She opened her mouth as if she had the ability to muster anything of any value to add to the conversation, but it was her turn to listen.

“You cheated on your ex with him! It’s what killed your first marriage. You fucked him for four years! And you were still fucking him right up to the time we met.”

“But I stopped seeing him when I met you.”

I knew I was no prize, and not exactly the poster boy for stability, but I also knew that I wasn't an idiot.

“You stopped seeing him because he moved out of town when the church people started questioning why he was spending so much time with you while his own wife was at home going crazy over it,” I shrugged and shook my head, “and you were still calling him when we first got married, so don’t even.”

Her mouth remained open but nothing was even making an attempt to come out of it.

I continued, remembering the years I had put up with it in the hope that it might someday get better, “and you haven’t changed a bit.”

She straightened up as if she were about to retort with conviction and righteous indignation, but slumped back again, knowing that I was finally immune to her bullshit.

“I have to go,” I said, trying my best to put an end to the proximity induced nausea and get back to counting my inventory.

She looked down for a second, eyes darting side to side, and then raised up again with an ‘Ah-hah!’ look on her face, which she quickly hid behind that almost comedic tragedy face that she used to twist her face into around my friends to try to make them think I was mean to her. I knew she was about to say something so ridiculously asinine that I might just pass out from the sheer stupidity of it.

“But what about God?”