The topic of last night’s divorce recovery get-together was ‘Reconciliation’. Most of the attendees just shook their heads and smirked to themselves – as if to say, “Yeah, right! Like that’s going to happen”, before settling in for a quiet doze. Although the general attitude in the room was one of indulgent cynicism, I could tell from a few stiffened spines and pinched expressions that the idea didn’t go over at all well for some.
I would go so far as to say that the concept of reconciliation was a complete non-starter for members of the Castration Advocacy Group. This elite collective comprises several women who have been the victims of infidelity and have made the journey from Matrimony to Acrimony in one easy step. I think I remind one of the ringleaders of her husband, because she keeps giving me viciously pointed glances – liberally clad with sharpened surgical steel [shudder].
The main thrust (poor choice of words, I know) of the workshop was that you should at least make the attempt to reach some kind of reconciliation with your ex spouse, as opposed to complete avoidance: Level One requires you to give a three-second warning before opening fire; Level Two involves shouted insults, but no actual bloodshed; and so forth – right up to Level Ten, which is essentially the New! Improved! version of your marriage.
The incentive video they showed us was a bit counter-productive, because we were treated to a relentless procession of astonishingly hideous redneck couples all declaiming, “Ahr lurve’s strahnger’n evah! Ain’t thaht raht, shugah?”, while pawing each other intimately. Yick. I think I need to wash my brain out with soap.