She made out like a bandit.
She got half my fingers, half my toes, and one of my eyebrows.
I was willing to give her my right knee but she was too savvy and knew that was my bad knee so she demanded the right one.
The Judge sided with her noting that NY State law is very clear on this point and states that after twenty years of marriage the good knee goes to her.
She demanded and got full ownership of all my vowels and shared credit on any witty comment I make in perpetuity.
After a bloody negotiation, she managed to get full custody of my pleasant thoughts. I held out and won visitation rights.
But I had to give up 85% of all my dreams—and, get this, her wily lawyer slipped in an exclusion clause on my nightmares.
She insisted on a clause where she would be taken out of all the shared memories we have of each other.
We came to a mutual agreement my imagination would be put in trust for the kids.
She also walked away with my infectious laugh.
The knives came out when we began to negotiate for my torso. I wanted to give her my bottom torso but when the appraiser gave my penis a low appraisal—she demanded the upper torso.
The Judge showed me mercy and I got to keep the top while the bottom went to her. Of course she had to be a bitch and refused to take my penis saying derisively “I have no use for it, now” as she threw it back to me.
I attempted to close my eyes but her lawyer immediately filed for an injunction to keep them open.
It went on for two years—she snared my mouth, my immune system, my unusual outlook in life and my survival instinct.
She let me keep my tears.
After we signed off, my friends reassured me I would rebuild my life.
But how I can rebuild my life when all I have left are five fingers, a boney ass, and a penis who will need years of counseling to get over all this?
