Peas of the Pod 9: All Dressed Up and No Place To Go

Holiday Season. Although just as deserving of a column, this one will not be about my first alternate Xmas without my children. This is much more 'tis the season' than that.

Xmas present to self is to finalize divorce (which has been on the table for two years now). And get a pedicure. So four way meeting is set for five days before Xmas among X, X's brand new attorney, brought on moments before signing divorce agreement 'cause X "needed better representation," my attorney, who has made it clear I am the poorest and least important (not necessarily in that order) client and myself.

Monday morning's appointment is preceded by a week of boasting to all of my loved ones, and anyone else who will listen, to the trials (hope not) and tribulations of my divorce's picayune legalities and countless hypothetical non possibilities that might occur. "I'm walking out of that office divorced. Or I'm not walking out…." I gloat to all of my listeners.

Except I have to get dressed first. What does one wear for such an occasion? Aware that X has not seen me "dressed" in quite a while, I want to look good. "Good" meaning confident, sexy, powerful, hip, happy, better off, heart healed, moved on, loved by another, and even desirable…by him. (I admit.) The only thing perfectly suitable to satisfy stated definition is black. A nice complement to the white once worn to inaugurate the union. Ying Yang, I suppose. Black pants. Black top. Every black item I own is tried on, tossed aside and tried on a second time with stomach muscles squeezed tighter and head held higher. There ya' go.

Hair. Makeup. Scent. Confidently clasp necklace X bought for me during romantic Parisian getaway, intended to/wondering if it will evoke feeling of remorse. Or any feeling at all. Removal of dog and cat hair. He was not fond of the animals much (I should have known then). Final dabbing of lip gloss in the elevator's reflection in my attorney's office high-rise only afforded by tenants who charge their clients 400/hour. Riding up to the 34th floor allows just enough time to do breathing exercise aimed to raise level of serenity and lower possibility of potential tears at the scene.

Receptionist announces my arrival. Attorney's 225.00/hr assistant appears and says X and the better representative have cancelled. Mix up. Bad communication. Misunderstanding. Someone wise once told me people divorce the way they were married. Case in point. So here I am, all dressed up and no place to go. In a vain attempt to accomplish something I suggest a four-way phone meeting. All parties reject that idea. So the next available date to meet appears to be in the second week of January! I take my black outfit and defeated self right out the door.

I will be married come the new year. We will file taxes jointly for 2005. Oxford health plans will have a Mr. and Mrs. X in their records. I will celebrate Xmas married with children but alone. All that much more wrong. "I can't even divorce well," I gloom to myself.

The failure of our four way meeting today drives me to take drastic action…I take matters into my own hands. Free of charge. I step into the discounted department store across the street from attorney's high rent skyscraper and in the midst of the store window's mannequins; I call X and insist we negotiate all outstanding differences on the phone. Right there and then. The makeshift office inspires me to remain as cool and emotionless as my stiff and steely witnesses. After all, I am as well dressed as they are.

By the end of my storefront negotiations I feel less defeated than the morning promised. What transpired in that discount department store, the week before Xmas, gave me everything I wanted and I gave everything I was willing to give.

Tomorrow I'm getting my pedicure.