Prints at the Scene of the Crime

I love the Internet. Its like having your own little DNA lab.  Last week while working on a post continuing my story of my divorce , and checking out my Facebook page, I noticed an ad for Meeting Exciting Seniors in Your Area.  I realized that's what I had been missing in my quest for the perfect date. Or, a date, period. You don't see a lot of ads for meeting worn out, old, bald headed, fat or dried up and wrinkled seniors. An Exciting Senior. Now, that sounded like what I was looking for.  So, of course, I clicked that site.  I moved my mouse over to sign in with a new and improved Username ( you have keep changing these so you can get totally confused and forget your password, it makes you an Exciting Senior also; more like a Senior Moment!);  and to my amazement, my ex husband's name popped up.  Now the carrier/email provider was the recently saved from bankruptcy "Charter Communications" which had been our cable/home phone provider on beautiful Lake Martin and he, to my knowledge, had never used an address with that carrier.  But here it was in plain site. First I thought, well, maybe it was after I left him. Correct that, he left me in a parking lot in Georgia.  But no that couldn't be because the address was on a computer that had left with me when the s--t hit the fan. I did check to make sure that the cable provider was not available in South Alabama where he lives now, but I knew that wouldn't make sense either.  No, this was from a time when we were "together".  As a  child I loved Perry Mason. I remember how he would have the perpetrator of the crime sitting in the witness chair and whirl around point his finger and say "Weren't you there, at the scene of the crime?".  The person would be stunned and afraid and shake his/her (yes, women killed people back in the old days also) head repeatedly. "No, I wasn't there.  It wasn't me".  The classic Some Other Dude Done It. Perry then would say  "How do you explain your fingerprints on the murder weapon?" And they of course would crumble with a confession.  So here I am writing a blog about how easily my ex lied to me and even with a picture that would tell the l000 words that have broken my heart, and I know he will have an excuse. The dog ate my homework, it was dark, I didn't know, the devil made me, you didn't support me,  Or "I didn't join that site.  I wouldn't ever be looking at Seniors".  Well,  he left his fingerprints at the scene of the crime. And so I learn once again, the guy lies. And cheats. I pulled out the old digital camera I used the day of crime and looked at the crime scene photos.  Haven't done that in a long time. I purchased a new camera and threw this one in the back of my closet.  Like OJ with the shoes.  Why didn't I throw it away? Evidence of the crime?  The deviousness of the sub-conscious?  The night after taking these pictures I looked at them for hours. Most were of my feet, a hand went by. Two great shots of the ceiling.   My dogs got in the way.  The pictures were wobbly and lopsided due to my distress.  The one I really wanted of Miss Evil with her wrap open was a blurr of pink and blue and what must have been my thumb.  But one shot was to die for, that is, shoulda', coulda', woulda' died for. The one she poised for with my husband.  The "Here, you want a picture" picture was perfect.  She looking every bit like the devil and he looking like a man in hell. My call did come from my ex.  He did want my comfort. He told me horror stories of lies and  broken things including his heart. Missing money. He thought we might spend a weekend or two together every month or so, but no he didn't really ask to come back. I realize now how fortunate I was I had not been given the option.  I am a sentimental and foolish woman at times, but for once I didn't get a chance to be.