May 21st it will be official. Even though I don’t love him or want to spend the rest of my life with him (Lord, I could barely tolerate 20 minutes with him the other night signing our tax return), my stomach is yelling that it needs Maalox. I feel an emotional eating night coming on. It seems so…final. I’m sad. I know I’ll snap out of it in a day or so, but I’m still sad. Cheese popcorn and Almond Joys, anyone?
Mine is May 1. But I would like to save the relationship and feel powerless, insignificant and lost.
Would you like to share some ice cream?
Mine was yesterday. It was relatively painless, as far as these things go. It wasn’t as much fun as, say, a trip to Disney World, but it was more pleasant than root canal.
Robin
Mine was February 18 this year. I commiserated by going to Vegas, secure in the knowledge that, if by random chance I did hit the big jackpot, she would not see a penny of it. 
I remember how that felt when I divorced six years ago. I even had a small laugh when I found out the date: July 14th. A great way to commemorate the shaking off of years of oppression by a tyrannical ex…