What is that date? Two major things happened that date. First, it was the date the series finale of Seinfeld aired–which sucked, by the way. 179 awesome episodes, followed by one of the worse season finales ever (maybe the only one worse than that was The Sopranos finale). It was like many years of great foreplay followed by one big disappointing pre-mature ejaculation.

On that day, I prepared to watch the series finale–went so far to pull a chair RIGHT UP TO THE TV, got some drinks and snacks, and settled into what I considered my final Thursday night religious experience.

Then into the room came my now-ex-husband and he handed me something to sign off on. I have to say, I have been asked to sign many things in my life, and this ranks up there as one of the two most ridiculous things I have ever seen. Ironically, BOTH of the ridiculous documents I have been asked to sign resulted in some form of divorce and serious upgrades in my life. The other one came from a now-somewhat-defunct jewelry company, who is hanging around, milking every last dime out of people who like cheap jewelry, but I digress.

So, Mike, (not his real name…okay, it is…I am too lazy to keep track of alias names, plus, he calls himself by his name in this document) hands me THIS GEM:

Please, read it and let this soak in. These are the 7 most important things to Mike in our marriage. Not kidding. Read it again. I had to read it several times. Well, that’s a lie, I got to point #3, told him to go fuck himself, that I am not signing it, so whatever his end game is, just jump right to that. He told me I had until Sunday to sign it or we’d be getting divorced. I told him I didn’t need until Sunday, and please stop interrupting Seinfeld.

So, let’s digest the 7 important things in this man’s life.

1–OLD COUNTRY BUFFET??? ‘Nuff said. Please. If your favorite restaurant is some e coli-ridden disgusting buffet place that gives your wife diarrhea before you even hit the buffet for dessert, you have no class. BTW, the Old Country Buffet in Brookfield since closed. I watched the death notices to see if he committed suicide over it. No, he didn’t. I would think if that was point #1 in saving your marriage, closing it MIGHT have pushed him over the edge. I just googled it–there are still two locations in WI–in Greenfield and Brown Deer. Wonder which location he takes victim, oops, I mean WIFE #3 to?

2–Sex, 12 times a year, 1 time a month. Um, what I loved is the last-second add-on of (WITH MIKE)…thanks for clarifying, I was hoping I could fuck the neighbor guy and have it count. And, thanks for the breakdown of 12 times a year–1 time a month. So, I could not have sex January 1-12, once a day and call it quits for the year? Or wait until December 19th and bang it all out then? Wait…what if I found some random guy also named Mike? Could he qualify?

3–I will stay under 135 pounds. In later conversations about this, he said there would be weekly weigh-ins and for every pound over 135 pounds, I have to pay a $100/per pound fine. Uh, I weighed 145 at that point. Yeah, I will pay you $1000/week in fines for “being fat”.  And how much can I charge you, douchebag, for sucking in bed? Let’s start by paying me $100/per inch for every inch you are under normal penis size…that would be $300/week. In marriage counselling, I said “He fucks like a 12 year old”–so how about $100/per year under 21 that he exhibited lame bedroom prowess? That’s $800…so according to my calculations, I can weight 145 and hes owes me $100/week.

4–Mike can stay at Lake Arrow. Because it was too hard to spell out Lake Arrowhead. For SNOWMOBLIE. Or whatever. Did the “whatever” include bringing his girlfriend up there to fuck? Smart move, Mike, the “whatever” clause served you well.

5–Mike gets more WALL SPACE. Wall space. That’s a thing guys ask for all the time. What did he want wall space for? His EAST GERMAN FLAG (that should have been a sign) and his 44 inch taxidermy-ied musky fish. Oh, and the really lame collage his dad made of him catching the fish. I wish I had a picture of that gem. Instead of going to the local Ben Franklin and having mats professionally cut for this collage, his dad clearly used a rusty utility knife, and wrote captions with a Sharpie. It was made with love, I am sure, but looked like shit, and not something that needed to be front and center in the living room.

6–If I am going to be later than 5:30, I have to call and tell Mike. I was later than 5:30 every day. And I’d call and he’d be napping. Because he took a nap every day from 4-5:30…and then wake up and expect dinner to be on the table. I was going to comment that no one should want my cooking on the table, but then again, he loved Old Country Buffet, so clearly, he had no taste-buds.

7–Do everything humanly possible to keep the cats from peeing anywhere other than the litter box, and keep the basement smelling good. Shouldn’t that be two separate demands? Most basements have that musty-basement smell, even without cats peeing. My two cats used to pee in empty boxes left lying on the basement floor. So, I had a simple request–STOP LEAVING FUCKING EMPTY BOXES ON THE BASEMENT FLOOR–BAM–DONE. Well, not in Mike-land. He paid the mortgage, not the cats, and if he wants to leave empty boxes on HIS BASEMENT FLOOR, he would. Good luck with that. Anyone ever try to train cats to do something? Yeah.

People always would ask me if this husband was like super-rich or uber-hot where he thought he could get away with asking such things. You decide:

So, I have now been married to #2 (I shall start calling him Deuce–just decided) for 12+ years. Have not received a list from him. Perhaps for our amusement, I shall ask for one.  Stay tuned!