Send In The Clowns, Oh, I’m Already Here

I was wrong.

In one matter, he is right.

I am not so easily replaceable as I assumed.

He is correct in that, but not for the reasons he might try to convince me.

Whores are a dime a dozen, or rather, a hundred bucks a pop plus the price of a dozen ‘roses’ thrown in for a tip.  Strippers come and go in those places like used cars in a scheister’s lot, 20 bucks a ride.  Sluts can be jacked off to on any porn flick music video for free any day, any night, any electronic device just a click away.  A fool who believed all his bullshit, who treated him like they loved him, who he groomed and sheltered and trained so he could get away with his lies and hoodwink and have his fun on the side for years? 


(half price house.  price.  I am a price.  I am priceless.  I am bought and sold.  I am old and cold.)

He might not ever be able to fool someone so completely again.  Yeah, I really am the best thing to happen to him.  The best dupe.  I walked right up an accepted the job.  He just didn’t bother to tell me the fine print.  Ever.  Never.  How I would play the stand in role for his mother.  How he was so used to hiding a huge chunk of himself from women that he required SOMEONE in that role, otherwise his life felt incomplete, an entire piece of his psyche without anyone to run the script.

I should have gone ahead and fallen into the life of a whore.  At least then I would know that men didn’t give a damn about me.  I would know the score, right up front, no question about it.  No pretend, no lies, cause it wouldn’t matter what they said.  I would know the truth.  At least then I could look at every one of them with the same amount of contempt with which they treated me.  All they would be for me was dollar signs.  If they wear a tie, they must have more money, so go flirt with them more.  At least then I would have no doubts as to what they really were after when they acted all nice and friendly.  At least then I would never fall for that ‘nice guy’ routine because I would know that any man who is willing to pay a woman for sex is no nice guy at all, not in the least.  Not deluded, not sad, nor misguided.  Simply not nice at all.  Perverts and users and ugly old men.  Good people don’t readily and willingly degrade and use and abuse other people to satisfy their lustful cravings.

The joke is on me.  I hear the laughter in the background, behind my back.  I feel like I am in junior high again, the butt of the jokes.  Who would actually want to date HER?  Them’s fightin’ words!  Even the shy guy at the back of the class, he was really obsessing over the loudmouthed slut and might have put up with someone like Her, but who wanted to be with Her?  She was as bad as he himself was.  She would never prove what a great guy he really was, not to those other people.  He wanted the popular slut to prove to himself he had it made, what a smooth guy he was, that he could get laid after all.  The nice girl?  Well, she was like his mother.  She needed to be lied to and placated and rebelled against because she might actually WANT something.  Make her give give give and never give back, then I am the big man. 

In the movies the guy lying to get the girl, tricking the girl for a bet with his buddies, he might actually end up caring for her and regretting how cruelly he had treated her, try to make it up to her.  Or, the guy who TRULY loved her might come swooping in when she is devastated to discover the truth of how she had been tricked and lied to, and show her how much HE really cares.  But this is reality.  In reality, the jerk who lies wins, and the girl goes off and commits suicide.  And the guy who truly loves her?  He was just obsessed about not having her, and if he actually had the chance to have her, he would be too scared and too shy and already being banging whores anyway.  (And would I have noticed?  Was I focused only on the bad boys?  Why?  Because I knew the score.  I knew they hated me, and would only use me, and at least that was honest.  I didn’t trust that the boy in the back really wanted me, and I was right.  I thought when they grew up maybe they got wiser, but no, nothing changed.  He is still a junior high slob obsessed with boobs and giggling to naked girlies in the bathroom.)

I was just a bet.  ‘I bet I can con this girl into being my girlfriend.  Then my friends will see I really am a great guy.  They’ll all be so envious, I bet.’   So he lied, and pretended, and had no respect for me because I fell for the lies and the worthless guy he felt inside.  And I was just a stand in for his mother persona, that missing piece of his ‘nice guy’ routine.  I’m just the gullible fool, the fool of a fool, fooled by the boyman who convinced himself that strippers liked him, that prostitutes gave a damn, that rationalizing cheating made would make the consequences all go away.  That he can keep his hard won prize, now that he damaged it beyond all recognition.  ‘It’ll be too hard to replace her after all this time, now that other people might know what I’m really about, so I’d better make sure and keep her around.  If I can’t keep this idiot I fooled for all these years, then who can I get?  All the women I paid don’t really want me.  They just wanted my money.  They didn’t give a damn about me.  I didn’t really give a damn about her, except where she made me look good, except where she fit into my need for someone to hide from, except where she made me feel normal and give me that external gratification I so desperately need.’

I had a chance.  I had money.  I could have finished the house in Manhattan, and lived there, and had my land and my horses and the town I loved.  But no, I loved him.  I thought he loved me, so it was worth leaving everything to be with him.  What a joke.  What a joke.  I should have known, when he didn’t buy me the flowers, that he didn’t give a damn about me anymore.  That he was tired of me, was tired of being married, and wished I would leave him.  I was such a fool, too stupid to know when I was being dumped, being dumped on, being hated, being pushed away for good. 

I missed my chance.  I missed my chance.  Now I am trying to learn how to love and be loved with someone who would treat me so cruelly.  Hurt me with everything that could possibly hurt me.

Oh, Goddess, I wish I could go back in time, go back to the dome, keep my money and finish it, and realize that he didn’t give a damn about me.

He is right.  I will be very, very difficult and costly to replace.

I am such a priceless fool.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s