Eat, Pray, Love

“But I wish me and David could—”
He cuts me off. “See, now that’s your problem. You’re wishin’ too much, baby. You gotta
stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone oughtta be.”
This line gives me the first laugh of the day.
Then I ask Richard, “So how long will it be before all this grieving passes?”
“You want an exact date?”
“Yes.”
“Somethin’ you can circle on your calendar?”
“Yes.”
“Lemme tell you something, Groceries—you got some serious control issues.”
My rage at this statement consumes me like fire. Control issues? ME? I actually consider
slapping Richard for this insult. And then, from right down inside the intensity of my offended
outrage comes the truth. The immediate, obvious, laughable truth.
He’s totally right.
The fire passes out of me, fast as it came.
“You’re totally right,” I say.
“I know I’m right, baby. Listen, you’re a powerful woman and you’re used to getting what
you want out of life, and you didn’t get what you wanted in your last few relationships and it’s
got you all jammed up. Your husband didn’t behave the way you wanted him to and David
didn’t either. Life didn’t go your way for once. And nothing pisses off a control freak more than
life not goin’ her way.”
“Don’t call me a control freak, please.”
“You have got control issues, Groceries. Come on. Nobody ever told you this before?”
(Well... yeah. But the thing about divorcing someone is that you kind of stop listening to
all the mean stuff they say about you after a while.)
So I buck up and admit it. “OK, I think you’re probably right. Maybe I do have a problem
with control. It’s just weird that you noticed. Because I don’t think it’s that obvious on the sur-
face. I mean—I bet most people can’t see my control issues when they first look at me.”
Richard from Texas laughs so hard he almost loses his toothpick.
“They can’t? Honey—Ray Charles could see your control issues!”
“OK, I think I’m done with this conversation now, thank you.”
“You gotta learn how to let go, Groceries. Otherwise you’re gonna make yourself sick.
Never gonna have a good night’s sleep again. You’ll just toss and turn forever, beatin’ on
yourself for being such a fiasco in life. What’s wrong with me? How come I screw up all my re-
lationships? Why am I such a failure? Lemme guess—that’s probably what you were up at all
hours doin’ to yourself again last night.”