My theory is that when parents get divorced, they’re given some kind of a
handout. When my parents told me that they were splitting, they told me
three things.
One, it’s not your fault.
Two, it’s not your fault.
And three, it’s not your fault.
Problem is, I don’t buy it. No kid does.
I’ve seen the pictures of when you got married. When you were
good-looking, and you smiled at each other; hell, when you even just
looked at each other.
So what happened between then and now?
Me.
I came along and made you tired and cranky and anxious and I made you lose your hair and gain 20 extra pounds and…
Somewhere in all of that, I… you stopped loving each other.
So I have my own idea for a handout.
Next time, tell me:
One, happiness is hard.
Two, don’t make the same mistakes we did.
And three, okay, so maybe it is your fault a little.
You want me to be honest? You go first!
