This is NOT one of those “my fucking ex is a _____” rants.

Background

Since about April, what’s her name (the ex) has been seeing this guy Howard J. Terpstra (if you can tell me the movie this is from, there is a prize for you. P.S. Google and imdb will be of no help). Anyway, evs. Since about September, my girls have had him as a presence at their place. From let’s go play putt putt, to holidays to his special pillow in their mom’s bed. Most Sundays, when I drop them off, it’s an empty apartment, because of poker or whatever is more important than usually being there to greet your kids on their return.

So, since September, I stopped doing anything specific to displace them in the family hierarchy. So much for the nurse. I do go out for a couple hours a couple times a month on “their” time, but it’s not the nurse or any other specific person. So, yes, daddy has a life, but it is not an in your face deal for them. they can escape at my place. It’s just us and games and go see the puppies and play ball and breathe.

Today

Time to drop the kids. Hmm. Howard J. Terpstra ’s truck is there; what’s her name’s jeep is there too. Curious. It’s usually poker night somewhere else. (Karma: you make this soooo easy.) We did this a couple weeks ago, where they were under a blanket watching TV when the girls came back.

This time, that and more. They are under blankets alright, and the TV is technically “on.” Howard J. Terpstra isn’t wearing a shirt, and the rest is under a blanket. Thanks for the image. He’s got “fucked hair.” What’s her name quick pulls up the blanket when I come in.

Me (to self): What the fuck? We’re not early.
Karma: Oh, the delicious irony, on so many levels.
Al Gore: QED, bitches. where’s my Oscar?
Me: Shut up. It IS Sunday at 6, the day and time when the kiddoes return to the roost, just like clockwork, isn’t it?

Anyway, this is the cool part. I can’t say shit about this in front of the kids. Bad karma. (Karma: Damn right!) I also can’t piss off the ex before the taxes get filed, because i need the deductions on my house and that is simply a matter of goodwill that I have them. Soooo, no shouting.

Instead, and with no prompting whatsoever, T, my 9 year old, calls BS on the situation. “What the fuck is wrong with you. You’re doing this shit in front of your ex husband. What the fuck is wrong with you, you you inconsiderate ___s?” T was more polite and it was all jokey.

Turns out Howard J. Terpstra at least had shorts on, and what’s her name was dressed, but still, I was stunned. not by the dumbasses, but by T. Just BLAM, who the fuck are you to do this (or look like we caught you doing it) in front of my Dad?

Girl has stones, and a heart of gold. Somebody did something right. I think I will take the credit on this one.

Now playing: Guns N’ Roses – Ain’t It Fun