In the Honda, on one of our rare times together in the same car, Monica finds her way back to the same old thing. Separated, living apart, fast-tracking ourselves toward wherever the hell we’re headed, she ends up bringing it up again and I want to reach over and open her door and let her do a shoulder roll into the cornfield to her right.
Monica, my wife of ten years, brings up dating.
As in, other people.
I think she mostly brings it up in an effort to try and wrap her own head around the inevitable idea of moving on with another person. But it sucks regardless, that’s what I’m telling you. For me, anyway.
I’m not sure. I’m really not.