Oh, ho, ho! The other day, I got a text — a text, not a phone call — from My Assclown, stating that he was getting married to Current Gal Pal. My reaction surprised me.
I wasn’t angry. Or sad. Or happy for him. I wasn’t jealous.
I felt bad.
I felt guilty.
I know, right? How strange. But I know something she doesn’t know, and I think that if she did know, she would not have said yes.
He’s been cheating on her. Repeatedly. With at least four different women over the last three years — and those are just the ones I know of (and I’m the ex-wife!). There have been more, guaranteed. I’m inclined to believe the old adage of “once a cheater, always a cheater”, and he’s a prolific one.
When he wants to, My Assclown can be incredibly charming. Most sociopaths are like that. It’s a superficial charm, mind you. He has a sense of entitlement, no empathy (when I told him my mother was upset with him for cheating on me, he got angry, and snapped, “I don’t see why she’s mad. It’s not like I cheated on her“), a ridiculous ego (he thinks he’s indispensible to the people around him, and smarter than everybody in the room), and is verbally abusive and manipulative. He is also a very practiced liar.
But I know the real him. We were together for twelve years, and he has not changed. If anything, he’s gotten worse. I’ve caught him in several lies, called him out, and listened while he smoothly turned the blame for the situation back on me and actively avoided discussing his failing. I don’t fall for it anymore, mind you — contrary to his imagining, My Assclown in not the smartest one in the room. He is a serial cheater. He cheated on me with dozens of women over the years (despite his protestations that making out, blowjobs, and going down on his partner “isn’t really cheating”). And he hasn’t stopped. As long as he doesn’t get caught, he’ll take a hand job from any woman who’ll give him one. And if sex follows, well, it was just that one time and don’t be mad and you forced him to do it so it’s really actually all your fault anyway, bitch.
Soooo, armed with this knowledge, I texted back my congratulations. My sympathies for the poor woman now wearing the ring (which she probably paid for, considering My Assclown is broke) went unspoken.
I don’t think she knows what she’s getting in to. And it’s not my business. So I’ve been looking the other way. But I think about how I felt every time he lied, cheated, verbally attacked me, and I want to call her up and tell her everything. She wouldn’t believe me, mind you — My Assclown has told her I’m a crazy bitch, and I’ve overheard them saying unkind things about me to other people. We tolerate one another; we are not friends. But as much as I would rub my hands together with glee if she were to dump his ass and leave him homeless and penniless (she recently came into some money, and has been paying for trips, toys, and other niceties that My Assclown revels in), I would feel badly for opening my mouth and ruining their relationship, as fucked up as it is.
Feel bad for talking? Feel bad for not warning her? I really can’t win here, can I?
I’m so sorry, Current Gal Pal. You have my pity.