Equilibrium

First, I blamed the Arabs. I was in Dubai for a multi-month work project when some local political crisis came up. Can't remember what it was about. International flights got screwed up, so I left early. All arranged at the last minute, I got no chance to call my wife and alert her.

I really should have thanked the Arabs because, when I got near home, I found Randi, my wife of five years, tongue-kissing her ex as they got into her Lexus with their two children, lately my stepchildren, who were beaming joyfully at the happy family tableau. They never noticed me.

Fred, my wife's ex, used to beat her and had gone to prison for it, leading to their divorce. Guess he got out. Guess she was one of those women who always went back to her abuser. I thought I had rescued them all from him. Guess not.

After they left, I talked to a neighbor, who said he thought we had gotten divorced, Fred Fucknutz having moved into the house two weeks after I left. The neighbor didn't like Randi or Fucknutz because they did not keep the grass trimmed. Fucknutz had some construction job and left early every morning. Randi was still working. The kids still went to school.

Thus, one Friday, while they were out, the moving crew and I hit the house. By lunch time, it was cleaned out. We weren't gentle. Randi's and the kids' stuff went to a storage facility, my clothes and effects got packed for shipment, and anything looking Fucknutzi got dropped in a dumpster. The remainder went to a thrift store. That afternoon, I closed on the sale of the house, which was just in my name. It sold at a lower-than-market value—just breaking even—because of the possibility that Randi would try to fight the sale in court. She wouldn't win. The buyer was a total bastard property developer. The home equity loan advance went into one of my personal bank accounts.

I did nothing with the leased Lexus other than to stop paying for it. It was titled in her name. The invisible hand of the market would do the rest. I did sell my car though.

When the home sale closing was done, the process server gave Randi a copy of the divorce complaint at work. I then cancelled and paid the credit cards. I also sent all the money from American banks by wire transfer to my bank in the UAE. I had gotten the savings account there on my recent trip. The bastard property developer was kind enough to let me use a conference room at his office for all of this.

My company had transferred me to their UAE subsidiary but, for tax purposes, it was really a resignation and then a hiring by a foreign company. That let me cash out the 401(k) and cancel the family health insurance. The IRA went with me, too.

My phone started ringing. It was Randi. I promptly blocked her number. That evening, I flew back to the Gulf. I hired a cute, young Filipina maid to cater to my needs. Cater she did. I sometimes hit her, but only spankings when she begged, and not that hard.

Long story short, some years later, I was back in the States, the divorce having been granted a few years before. I even bought a new house near my old one and reconnected with old friends.

One dark and stormy night, we had torrential sleet. That's not supposed to happen, but climate change, I guess. It would turn into snow later that night. It was windy, pouring, and nearly freezing. How did I know? Some douchebag was pounding on my door at 1:00 a.m.

I opened the door to see my old buddy Lance standing there. Lance was now a county social worker. We hadn't seen each other since before Randi and I split up.

"Randi and the kids are in my car," he said. "Fred beat them all pretty badly and got arrested. They got kicked out of their apartment and have nowhere to go on a night like this. Thought maybe you could help."

I considered trying to explain Ayn Rand's rational-selfishness philosophy without being a boring putz but gave up. Her writing is so dull, that's impossible, but it worked for me in this case.

"Nope," I said, closing the door to Lance's surprise.

I returned to bed and my Filipina wife. Sleep came easily.