on Sheila.” “On” was not interpreted in the sense of juxtaposed bodies.
Relating the story later to friends, Goodwin observed, “Dumb fool that I am, no red flags were raised for me when Sheila returned from one of her one on one sessions and said that Maxine recommended that she take a ‘sexual furlough’ from me. This struck me as ironic since she had been sexually AWOL for quite some time. Not surprisingly, our relationship, rather than improve, deteriorated, though Sheila did not seem to mind.”
Two weeks after Sheila’s departure, as Goodwin was walking to his office and for no particular reason, he stopped, and without really thinking about it, pressed the speed dial on his cell phone to get Sheila.
She picked up on the first ring, “This is Sheila.”
He didn’t announce himself. Rather, he said, “You know Sheila, I have lots to say to you, but for now, I have one question. Sydney Maxine, why of all people, him? I’m smarter, richer, taller, more athletic, more popular, and better looking. So what’s the attraction? For Christ’s sake! I’m a God damn 28.”
Her answer made absolute sense. She said, “He has no sense of humor, Philip. He’s HH just like me.”
At that moment Goodwin realized that as hard as it was for him to live with her, it was equally as hard for her to live with him. All of his rage dissipated at that point. He felt a large sense of guilt for his email message to Sheila and if he could have taken it back he would have. So, he attempted to do the next best thing and apologize on the phone for his insane email, but Sheila had already hung up.
Part Two
Love In The Time Of Apps
The Best Revenge
T he anger, shock, and stress arising from Sheila’s departure earlier in the day had exhausted him. By day’s end, Goodwin longed for sleep, but none was forthcoming. The usual tricks used to coax himself to sleep, drinking warm milk or watching a really dull television program, failed. Goodwin even attempted to count sheep, but became agitated when the sheep he envisioned all seemed to be wearing little Manolo Blahnik shoes. The answer to his temporary insomnia, he realized, would be via the ingestion of copious amounts of scotch and Ambien. The potent mix had the desired effect and he dropped off immediately. His last words before crossing the border from consciousness to the land of Nod were a pouty/whiney/slurred, “stupid girlie man.”
Sweating, with his stomach churning and heart pounding, Goodwin woke with a start. He had the sense that it was nearly morning and that he had slept at least six hours. The little red digital clock light on his cable box, however, told him otherwise. It was 11:45 pm. His sleep had lasted for less than 40 minutes and he was now very wide-awake. The rush of anger and adrenalin that absorbed Goodwin throughout the day overtook him again like a fever.
“What the hell am I going to do now?”
He paced, watched television, paced some more, stood in the middle of his living room and, as loudly as he could, cursed Sheila, then cursed Sydney Maxine, and then just cursed. His primal screams were actually cathartic in a way, and each time he repeated the exercise hefelt slightly better. He was on his fourth round of cursing and midway into “mother- fu..,” when he abruptly stopped, turned, walked into his den, and turned on his computer.
Within the narrow horizontal search rectangle provided by Google, Goodwin typed “revenge,” deleted that and entered, “sweet revenge,” deleted that and settled for “best revenge.” This entry brought up over one million hits, but Goodwin found what he was looking for in a matter of minutes: “Living Well is the Best Revenge.” When he linked into the site of the same name, Goodwin was surprised to learn that the oft-quoted phrase was not of modem vintage, (many had credited it to the fashion designer, Bill Blass) but was first coined by the English clergyman and metaphysical poet named George
Relating the story later to friends, Goodwin observed, “Dumb fool that I am, no red flags were raised for me when Sheila returned from one of her one on one sessions and said that Maxine recommended that she take a ‘sexual furlough’ from me. This struck me as ironic since she had been sexually AWOL for quite some time. Not surprisingly, our relationship, rather than improve, deteriorated, though Sheila did not seem to mind.”
Two weeks after Sheila’s departure, as Goodwin was walking to his office and for no particular reason, he stopped, and without really thinking about it, pressed the speed dial on his cell phone to get Sheila.
She picked up on the first ring, “This is Sheila.”
He didn’t announce himself. Rather, he said, “You know Sheila, I have lots to say to you, but for now, I have one question. Sydney Maxine, why of all people, him? I’m smarter, richer, taller, more athletic, more popular, and better looking. So what’s the attraction? For Christ’s sake! I’m a God damn 28.”
Her answer made absolute sense. She said, “He has no sense of humor, Philip. He’s HH just like me.”
At that moment Goodwin realized that as hard as it was for him to live with her, it was equally as hard for her to live with him. All of his rage dissipated at that point. He felt a large sense of guilt for his email message to Sheila and if he could have taken it back he would have. So, he attempted to do the next best thing and apologize on the phone for his insane email, but Sheila had already hung up.
Part Two
Love In The Time Of Apps
The Best Revenge
T he anger, shock, and stress arising from Sheila’s departure earlier in the day had exhausted him. By day’s end, Goodwin longed for sleep, but none was forthcoming. The usual tricks used to coax himself to sleep, drinking warm milk or watching a really dull television program, failed. Goodwin even attempted to count sheep, but became agitated when the sheep he envisioned all seemed to be wearing little Manolo Blahnik shoes. The answer to his temporary insomnia, he realized, would be via the ingestion of copious amounts of scotch and Ambien. The potent mix had the desired effect and he dropped off immediately. His last words before crossing the border from consciousness to the land of Nod were a pouty/whiney/slurred, “stupid girlie man.”
Sweating, with his stomach churning and heart pounding, Goodwin woke with a start. He had the sense that it was nearly morning and that he had slept at least six hours. The little red digital clock light on his cable box, however, told him otherwise. It was 11:45 pm. His sleep had lasted for less than 40 minutes and he was now very wide-awake. The rush of anger and adrenalin that absorbed Goodwin throughout the day overtook him again like a fever.
“What the hell am I going to do now?”
He paced, watched television, paced some more, stood in the middle of his living room and, as loudly as he could, cursed Sheila, then cursed Sydney Maxine, and then just cursed. His primal screams were actually cathartic in a way, and each time he repeated the exercise hefelt slightly better. He was on his fourth round of cursing and midway into “mother- fu..,” when he abruptly stopped, turned, walked into his den, and turned on his computer.
Within the narrow horizontal search rectangle provided by Google, Goodwin typed “revenge,” deleted that and entered, “sweet revenge,” deleted that and settled for “best revenge.” This entry brought up over one million hits, but Goodwin found what he was looking for in a matter of minutes: “Living Well is the Best Revenge.” When he linked into the site of the same name, Goodwin was surprised to learn that the oft-quoted phrase was not of modem vintage, (many had credited it to the fashion designer, Bill Blass) but was first coined by the English clergyman and metaphysical poet named George
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