And Another Thang

Divorce

by Myrna McAdam Mills

My husband wants to "find himself" and find out "who he is." I tell him to look at his driver's license.

He moves out, taking all his thangs and some of mine.

The first thang I notice is there's only one of the matching pair of guest towels left in the bathroom. I want my towel back.

He insults me by filing for divorce before I get first shot at the thang. I get papers and go to the lawyer who was recommended by one of my bridge club friends. She doesn't tell me he's eighteen years old and I'm his first case.

"What can I do for you?" he asks.

"Grow up."

He sits with half of his mouth in a grin as I hand the sheath of papers to him.

"Divorce papers," he says as he looks at the thang.

"Bingo."

"What would you like for me to do?" he asks.

"Do you have a gun?"

He looks frightened.

I don't tell my lawyer how long it has taken to make myself unbearable to live with and all the thangs I've done: About when I told him I was horny when he was watching a football game, or how I drew a line down the middle of the bed and told my husband, "Never cross this boundary," or any of the other thangs I had done to make him move out. I tell him I've been deserted and abandoned. I want the house, the cars, and a steady income. I leave his office knowing he'll see to it that I'll get all the thangs I want.

I call his office a month later and ask for him.

The receptionist says, "He's no longer taking divorce cases."

"Well...of all the thangs!"