I've been a single mom since the 80s and have always lived on my own with my two girls. In 1994, however, I met a guy and we hit it off quickly. After about two weeks, he tried to convince me to move in with him, but I said no because I loved my little rental. It had a garage, a fireplace, an adorable kitchen—it was perfect. After three months of begging, however, he FINALLY convinced me, so after making sure that this was *forever* and not just a *roommate* kind of thing, I sold all of my furniture so my girls and I could fit into his 3-bedroom house. In addition to this, I spent $500 remodeling his bathroom and kitchen, and, the week after I moved in, I also charged a deep-sea fishing trip to the coast. (We caught a LOT of fish.)
Life was good for about two months, but then I started getting vibes that he was up to no good. He was so paranoid about things, like he'd ask, "Did you move my jacket in my closet?" or, "Have you been looking through my dresser drawers?" I of course said no, but the truth is that I had just read an article in a magazine about a lady who had written little love notes to her husband every day and stuck them in various places so that he'd find them when he'd least expect it. After she died, he would still find little love notes in the oddest places, months and even years later. I thought this was so cool so I wrote lots of little notes, too, and started placing them in boots he never wore, an old jacket pocket, under the fish in the freezer, etc. They were just little "I Love Yous" to show him that I cared, you know?
Well, his paranoia started getting annoying—it was like he was accusing me of snooping. After about a week, the truth came out. I noticed that he started going to karate three times a week and would come home smelling like perfume. So one night, I showed up at his karate class, and wouldn't you know it, he wasn't there! When he got home later that evening I confronted him about everything and he denied, denied, denied. When I told him that I was going to move out unless he told me the truth, he finally admitted that he'd been sleeping with his ex-girlfriend. Then he had the nerve to say, "I love you, but I'm not IN love with you."
Damn it... why couldn't this loser have figured this out BEFORE I sold all my furniture, gave up my little house, and uprooted my kids? Never again.
I found a place in two days and moved out... but not before getting my revenge. I told him that I preferred that he didn't hang around while I moved my stuff out because it "hurt too much," so he left me alone in the house for a weekend. After I got everything done, I left him a little surprise for when he got home on Sunday evening. Remember the nice batch of fish we caught? I put a few of them under the waterbed mattress and turned it up full-heat. Then I found all my little love notes and replaced them with ones that said "I hate you," and, "You're a cheater." A week later I drove by and saw his waterbed lying in front lawn, getting aired-out. LMAO.
Serves him right.
I heard through he grapevine that the nasty fish smell stayed in EVERYTHING he owned for weeks—even months. You know what they say about a woman scorned...