“What? You wanna be the plaintiff?”
Hard to think of a time a more bizarre sentence has been said to me, and yet here is my husband of a decade, Serge, politely offering me the option of being the one to file for divorce.
He is responding to the expression on my face after he informs me he is heading to the prothonotary office in a nearby town to pick up divorce papers. Yeah, I didn’t know what "prothonotary" meant, either. Just a fancy way of saying "civil court," I suppose.