November 28, 2007
The Psychic
Reading a friend's blog post, I remembered something kinda odd. So I dug the tape out of the depths of a box of crap and listened to it again, just to make sure I was remembering it correctly. (You know, now that I'm 38.)
For my practice bachelorette party (before I got practice-married to my practice husband), Billi got me a psychic instead of a stripper. (Which is fine by me because I already know enough hotties I'm not allowed to touch.) The psychic gave readings to all the women present and encouraged us to record them to refer to later.
At the time, I was 26, marrying a 26 year old Mexican electrician who belonged to the stagehand union and worked on movies for a living. We knew we'd probably be living in our little apartment for some time, but that was fine because we also knew we didn't want children.
What I didn't know is that King Daley's tax hikes and fees would drive the movie business out of Chicago and into Canada (of all places!), and would also drive my husband to drink. Oh, who am I kidding. That started, I found out later, when he was thirteen. But at the time, I didn't know all that, so we were happy.
Well, I knew that psychic was off her rocker when she told me I would have two children, and my husband would make lots of money. I would be veeeerrrry comfortable.
The only way I would ever have two kids is if Jerry's parents died (I'm his legal guardian) AND if my entire family died, as did everyone else Spikette ever knew. Because I'm a last resort for Nephew's legal guardian, I'm sure. And at that time, Billi's children were still several years away.
As for money, I always figured we'd have enough to live on (HA!), but I knew the Lottery was our only hope for big money. So, yeah. The psychic? Utter nonsense.
Except that it wasn't utter nonsense. She merely failed to mention -- or politely left out because I was still on my first -- which husband was going to bring me two kids and good money.
True, Younger and Older Step Daugther are not my own kids. But I've cleaned their rooms and celebrated their victories and bought their favorite foods. In short, I've done everything I've been allowed to do. And I'm sure if Husband and Ex died, as did everyone they ever knew, the girls might... come to me when they need money.
And true, we're not filthy rich. My car is six years old, and our house is smaller than either of my sisters'. But you know what? I'm richer than I ever thought I'd be. I'm so rich, I know I'll never again have to decide between getting the phone turned back on or buying groceries.
I'm so rich, I can drive my gas-guzzling, Al-Gore-enraging SUV way-the-hell up to Gurnee twice a month to see Billi & Co. I'm so rich, I can buy $23 mascara and not hide it from Husband. I'm so rich, I'll never have to decide between paying my LivingDot fees for my blog or my eBay fees.
So I guess this isn't really an oooh-ahhhh, shivers-down-your-spine kind of story. Just a curious one. Was she a lucky guesser? Probably. It's just interesting how one's prospects can change. And thank God for that because Diorshow Mascara is like butter.
Comments
I blush that you link to my little guest blog!! Thank you for naming the mascara, just the mention of $23 mascara makes me want to have it, it must be fantastic for that kind of dough. So, what you're saying is that my future husband may have 5 kids? That I could live with. I am an every other weekend and some holidays kind of parent I think.
Posted by: Vicki at November 28, 2007 10:44 AM
I love it when I get mentioned in your blog!
Posted by: Marty at November 28, 2007 01:57 PM
I don't know why I haven't been calling my ex-husband my practice husband. That's totally what he was. I'm going to start today!
Vicki would be a fantastic every other weekend and some holidays parent.
Posted by: Shannon at November 28, 2007 03:01 PM