I finally did it. Yesterday, after yet another wee hour expletive-filled phone call from CSB’s ex-wife - the bilious mendacious JB, she who gives even schizophrenic paranoia a bad name – I went down to our local constabulary and reported her for harassment.
It’s amazing how nasty and irrational one can be in this world and get away with it. (Of course I support the ACLU and fully support your right to believe and say anything, just not to me, please, because it makes me feel so horrid.)
The very kind patrolman called said Bilious Mendacious JB, identified himself as a member of a Law Enforcement Agency and told her that yours truly requested that she NEVER EVER call this house again. Of course she had words to say about this, so said officer reiterated that she can contact her poor beleaguered ex-husband via email and his cellphone any time, and sadly, she does.
Standing there in our village hall (a lovely brick building designed by Shreve, Lamb & Harmon, better known for the ) I felt rather surreal and I thought that this was a far cry from what I imagined for myself back when. Which led me to wonder: what exactly did I imagine?