Who's On First?

My Sweetie has been married before. Before me, I mean. His first wife was, basically, his HS sweetheart. They were on-again-off-again for their entire history. And they got married (by his admission) because both of their families thought that they should be married, not just shacked up. Their actual marriage lasted less than a year, although they were still together after the divorce. (He'll be the first to admit that his so-called romatic history is fraught with strangeness. Lifetime Channel Movie-of-the-Week strangeness. If someone had been murdered, Ann Rule would love this story strangeness.)

When he was moving here, from there, the divorce was already in progress, but they both thought that a total change of scene would do some good. They let the divorce go through anyway, and moved here.

Of course, the way he tells it, the weekend they moved was "shit kicker weekend" here. It's hilarious to think that from hillbilly farmtown PA he moved here, and thought here was backward, small town, hillbilly-ish.

Needless to say, they settled in and continued on their merry self-destructive ways. They eventually had the obligatory ugly split, and he met wife #2, aka Roly-Poly Trolly (the sociopath.)

That's the back story. Which you need to know to understand this: My mother-in-law told my Sweetie that she thinks I've got some jealousy regarding the First Ex. And this is why she thinks that:

I've been told that the First was petite. Small. Thin. Cute. Now, I've seen pictures, and even taking into consideration the horror of 80's fashions (those puffy pants and suspenders, really, why did we think that looked good?!) and the 10 lbs the camera supposedly adds...she wasn't that small. And no, I've seen pics from several angles, and even taking away the 80's fashion, and big hair and the 10 lbs the camera added, maybe, maybe on their wedding day she was small. But for their entire relationship? Uh, no. And yes, I'm a petty, judgemental, Grinch-hearted woman enough to see that. Even if he, and his family, isn't.

Onward: Once, while tripping through the drawer of years-old pics at his parents house, My Sweetie and I came across the photos from their wedding. Oh, MY! But it was 80's. Hillbilly 80's. Hillbilly 80's teenager. I giggled. I guffawed. I roared with laughter (honestly, did anyone really think that a fru-fru lacey tiered cloud of marshmallow fluff with teeny weeny pink bows ala Bjork channelling Scarlet O'Hara would look good on anybody? Seriously? The hoop on that thing could've housed Barnum & Bailey!)

It was, as they say, all fun and games until someone takes a picture of My Sweetie kissing that woman. And I found it. And I stopped laughing. There were DOUBLE prints. Can you imagine?

My mother-in-law, thought my reaction was adorable. Cute. Funny.

No, I did not destroy those blasted double prints, although I really really wanted to. A Pagan Ritual Burning would have been good about then.

My mother-in-law commented that, didn't I know? They were married. And I did, of course, already know their history together.

Sure, sure, whatever. He had no business kissing that woman. I don't care if they were married, he should not have kissed her. EVER.

My mother-in-law maintained that I was cute for feeling that way. Funny. Adorable.

Until later, when the Ol' Man discovered an old scrapbook he forgot he still had...and there it was: the picture of my mother-in-law's Sweetie, her husband of 50 years, with his arm around some woman. A woman who was, obviously, from the picture, someone special to him.

The Ol' Man's photo of him with his arm around some woman, and the double prints of My Sweetie kissing that woman both went away that day. (none of the other pics went, just those horrid, objectionable ones.)

And, best of all, my reaction is no longer cute. Nor funny. Nor adorable.