The Pink Slip

The Pink Slip

His words echoed in her mind. His chosen sequence signaled the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. If given the opportunity to adjust her life's diary, she probably would not change very much, if anything at all, despite there being times when the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel definitely seemed like the oncoming train.

The dynamic between men and women will probably never be understood in its fullest, well to her at least. She was constantly plagued by the stories bantered about the office by the pompous male staffers who insisted on relaying their connubial exploits in the cafeteria. On occasion the ten-by-twelve room reeked with male testosterone and phallic envy as they lectured on their accomplishments. Hilda, who was but the receptionist, sat at the least visible table in the area and listened intently whilst trying to become like the pasty green lizard pressed against the flaked paint of the nearby wall.

"What have they learnt from their exploits?" This and other probing thoughts played with her mind often, especially when she had those fleeting moments of "my time" and she tried as best she could to pull from deep within the strength and order that her count-on-one-hand female friends insisted were key to being a successful woman, mother and wife.

The choices she made in her life were her responsibility to bear and hers alone.

Choices, many times these came pre-packaged and tagged with a price she thought was too high to pay, but she knew only too well that when the reaper was ready for his reward, there was little that she could fight against. Brave soul, she refused to let that gray bastard have the satisfaction of payment. Victory came when she consciously decided to take hold of her obligation by the seat of its pants, yank it to the forefront, face it head on and see what it was made of. Unfortunately, these triumphant occurrences were scarce, far between and needed to be managed as frugally as she did the meager salary that she drew every month.

To this quiet unassuming woman, the institution of marriage still remained one of the oldest establishments of which, from as a long as she could recall, she wished to be a member. She had been conditioned and preened, from a very young age, to be fully focused on the requirements for entry and as a proper young lady was expected to be versed on the language, the etiquette, the service (in some instances servitude), the song, the dance and the play (both fore and aft).

Her adolescent life was performed not unlike acts in a pantomime, scene after scene: comedy, tragedy, and parody. The directors may have changed, the screenplay edited but the concreted epitaph remained: My hope, my dream, "I promise to love and care for you, 'til death us do part."

The climax to the show remained her ultimate achievement. That wiggly little bundle of joy presented to her by the trusted family doctor. Tears and sobs choking and preventing her from making the 'thank you' speech, but such being gallantly delivered by her knight in shining amour who stood to her right, protecting her, loving her, showing her to the world; anxiously waiting to whisk her and their angelic wad into the newly leased car for the anticipated journey to the nest.

Was this only a dream? Or could this dream become a reality? She prayed on this every night. She was told by her pastor, that one should never ask for oneself. She should seek to allay the world's suffering by pleading intervention on other people's behalf. But who was doing it for her? Who held her in their nightly prayers?

She was certain that no one did and so she decided to brave the inevitable hell fire and brimstone and make just that one request. "Father, please bring him to me. I need to be happy."

Her wish was granted, or so she thought. The early years were grand. She was happy, they were happy. Dreams became reality, or at least for a time. But then, it went horribly wrong.

The funny thing was that even though the evidence stared her straight in the face she was still blind to it. The excuses, the tales, the cover ups were numerous but she had been taught, that as a woman and more importantly a wife, it was mandatory to continue on the path that had been designed for her. Well, truth be told, she had been around the mulberry bush a few times, meandered the labyrinth and after a while with her head in a spin and nausea setting in, her world flipped upside down.

Such a pity that little girls and boys do not attend the same school of doctrine. Even if they did they were obviously taught a different syllabus by different teachers using different texts and no one had seen fit to add "Preserving and Nurturing Relationships" to the required reading list. Such a pity!

So, having now forcibly been thrown back to earth, no Asgard and no Valhalla in sight, reality hit hard. She was faced with unprecedented challenges, financial difficulties and spousal delusional episodes. Family, in-laws and friends attempted to mitigate in their self-perceived gracious manner and succeeded in making matters one hundred times worse.

Despite the turmoil, the female cranial cavity considered nothing to be wrong. She, with an unbelievable appetite for punishment, went about the tasks of the day, and night, with relentless aptitude, tireless resolve and unquestionable fortitude.

So when the sun rose, as usual, for the umpteenth day in her cycle of matrimonial bliss, steering her weary form to the kitchen to whip up the usual breakfast, get the kids out the door, to school and to work, prepare lunches and await the usual goodbye hugs and kisses, she was presented with "The Pink Slip".

"I have not been happy for the past twelve years" her partner of a lifetime announced.

A relationship that spanned almost three decades, three children and a house (thankfully no dog or cat, just fish) was now destroyed.

"Say that again? No don't bother, my ears are still ringing from the first syllables," she thought to herself.

She gazed at him, eyes searching for clarity. Her every sense heightened, struggling with the stimuli they were receiving. Synapses firing wildly in her brain, she was breathing hard now, her heart pounding in her ears, her adrenalin coursing.

Hilda again tried to focus on the person standing in front of her.

"Come on, you can't be serious" she finally was able to verbalize. "What have I done wrong?" she whimpered.

Her throat tightened