Today for the first time in a while I felt like I actually had the upper hand in this tangled web of a relationship that I’m all caught up in. I rolled the dice of life, plucked my “chance-card” and it revealed to me a choice. It gave the option to collect my $200 dollars and pass “GO” without looking back on regrets or the option to place my house firmly on the yellow pavement of “Marven Gardens.” Unfortunately, I’m still no owner of this property and although I’m able to strategically set up house there, I’m just the mortgagor borrowing this piece of property for the duration of the game. It still seems to baffle me how easily my love life can be paralleled to a game of Monopoly.
Gucci bags, Loui shoes, Vicki Sets, and other lavish gifts are a common accent to this lifestyle I’ve grown accustomed to. He takes care of me and makes sure I have the latest and the greatest. Private Chefs on Sundays just to say we had a home cooked meal are the bear minimums of the things provided. Five star hotels become a necessity while a wedding ring when we’re away on trips becomes his nonexistent accessory. He constantly looks me in my eyes and tells me “So long as you’re here you can have anything you want.” Yet somehow those words seem so foreign to me as I revert back to my monopolized life where although he pays me every time he lands on Marven Gardens, I had to pay “HER” for this slot. She is the owner of this property and as easily as it is for him to pay a monetary restitution for his part played in all of this, I was forced to pay with my heart and my feelings. I’m forced to give those up because despite the fact that he tells me that I am his “wifey” while he’s with me, I have to remember that she is the one who wears the diamond ring while I was forced to settle on a diamond bracelet.
So those words “You can have anything you want” become null and void to me because what I really want is what has already been given to someone else. My life consists of trips and gifts with occasional visits in passing while hers is adorned with your presence every night. Should I feel bad for her if she already knows about me yet still continues to stay? Or better yet, why can’t she feel sorry for me because I’m the one left to make a decision of whether or not to keep playing house with additions to the household?
Love-child is such an awkward title and it’s probably more deserving of the label lust-child which is a better description of its conception. So here is my choice card all bundled-up inside of me like a brief case waiting to be opened on Deal or No Deal. He lays my options before me like a negotiator in a bank heist. I can have whatever I like of course has now turned into “I’m not leaving my wife.” Those few words spoken out of his mouth are enough to make me have this baby standing right here. So let me get this straight, my baby becomes a monthly “household bill” that’s written off at the end of the year? Oh and I guess birthdays and holidays are special occasions where you show up and play daddy for a day?
Although hurt, I can’t be mad because in my selfishness I contributed just as much to this infidelity as he did. I am the mistress, which broken down can only be attributed to (Mi-Stress). Yes, my stress that I caused on myself for an escalation in revenue.Had I looked beyond the glitz and glamour of my enhanced lifestyle maybe I would have been able to see the signs that were given. I would’ve been able to comprehend that what once started out as a game of Monopoly where capital is key had overtime distorted to a thin reality. That reality is in the confession of truth and the truth about it all is--no matter how much money is given, the mistress will soon one day want to be called the Mrs.
-Lusty
