So. I’ll tell you about that blue T-shirt of my son’s. It’s in that stupid baby-blue color; my ex has a terrible taste for clothes. I told her that. She just retorted I can by his clothes myself if I’m not satisfied. Ha.
Anyways… That shirt. Josh wore it on the day we went to the zoo. You know, bears and monkeys and stuff. The monkeys were hilarious, especially those baboons with purple arses. Such freaks.
So Josh and I went to the zoo, and he got that T-shirt all dirty with icecream and coke and all that stuff I bought him. So at home, he took it off and put another T-shirt on. His mother is like this, better give him an extra T-shirt instead of teaching him to stay clean for a change.
Josh left that T-shirt on my bed (hasn’t been taught to take care of his things either), and then my ex arrived. We had that major argument about alimony. I told her I didn’t have cash ’cause I spent it all on zoo tickets and icecream and stuff.She didn’t even say thank you.
I told her I’ll transfer her the money tomorrow. I was gonna do that, too. But she screamed at me and stormed away with Josh, forgetting that T-shirt. She gets like that alot. This was the reason I divorced her in the first place.
So I was going to transfer her that money in a few days, but she kept on nagging me, so I didn’t. I don’t like being under pressure, and she knows that very well. I bet she did that on purpose, to piss me off.
Well, she got what she wanted, didn’t she.
Anyways… After a month or two she stopped calling me. She didn’t sue me like she said she would. Guess she didn’t need that money so badly after all, huh? I knew that all along. I bet she figured I’m not so easily played.
So I hung on to that T-shirt. I even machine-washed and folded it. Guess I’m a bit of perfectionist, and I’m not ashamed of that.
But now I hear she’s getting married again. I hear Josh is calling her mate “daddy”. A friend told me that, she didn’t even have the decency to call me. She didn’t even invite me to Josh’s birthday last week. Well, I couldn’t have made it anyways, but I would have called him at least, to remind him who his real daddy is.
But I guess that’s it for me. I’m not the kind of person who shows up uninvited. I’m not the kind of person who gets boys to call him “daddy” to get into their mother’s pants. So I guess I’m not needed anymore.
I guess I’ll just chuck that T-shirt out. Josh has probably outgrown in anyways.
P.S. This is a response to Word Ferret’s prompt. And a work of fiction, so don’t come after me about being a jerk.