Planning the wedding was easy enough. I had no “assistance” from anyone and that is just how I liked it. I found my dress on sale at Stollery’s – a high end clothing store at Yonge & Bloor, now gone making way for condos. Not at typical wedding dress – again, that’s not my scene, but I was happy with it. I put a challenge of sorts on FaceBook asking friends and family to find my shoes, I had specific criteria, and my LittleBro came through and then some.

I think my mother wanted to be more involved than not at all; helping me to pick the dress, shoes, and everything else. Pretty sure she had a vision of what her daughter’s wedding should be, but again… not me. Also, pretty sure she wishes that I turned out to be more like other “good Greek girls”, with children, going to church, eating meat… but she got me instead.

We wanted the Italian’s children to be involved so we asked them to come to a cake tasting with us and have them choose the wedding cake flavour. They agreed but at the last minute, like literally the morning of the cake tasting appointment and we were on our way to pick them up, they cancelled, or rather, their whore mother cancelled. I know the Italian felt bad about it but tbh, I kind of expected it.

However, when it came time to take the girl child shopping for her dress, there was no cancelling that. She was and, probably still is, all about the material gains. In addition to buying her a dress, I also bought her shoes and I gave her earrings to match the dress, I purchased the outfit for the boy child, and the Italian purchased a beautiful watch for the boy child. And, immediately following the wedding the whore’s whore husband bought the boy child an apple watch as a show pf one-up-man-ship – classy no?

Anyways, the ceremony venue – outside at Edward’s Gardens.

The lunch venue, in a private room at a restaurant that had something for everyone.

The guests – close friends and family only, and we still ended up at 50 people.

There was no dancing or typical Greek revelry. Just lunch, drinks, and… nope that was it. It was Pride Weekend in TO so I didn’t want to keep anyone from the real fun that weekend.

It wasn’t without a bit of drama though. Well, not exactly smackdown drama, but the drunk wasn’t happy with where she was seated so she made some lame excuse, meant to hurt me I guess, about having to leave early because she had to get to a friend’s 40th birthday and how that was a really special event for her to be a part of. She said that she wanted to be seated “with the family” but thing is, it was one big table and everybody was seated strategically, even her, so they would have something in common with the others around them. And just to get back to the point, the entire seating arrangement was dictated by the boy child and making sure he didn’t have a meltdown from being away from his mommy for too long. So, the boy child was seated with his uncle and aunt flanking him so they could keep him occupied/distracted. From there I chose to seat those with children together with a TV on a nearby wall with the Lego Movie playing for the children. Other’s were seated together because I knew they would have things to talk about – work, or previous places they’ve lived, and not be bored.

The entire ordeal was all done with by 4:00 pm EST – lots of time to get to other festivities, other bday parties and mommies.

Once it was all done and as everyone was leaving, the girl child asked if she could come with us to Cuba…for our honeymoon…of course it was a no, but maybe next time. And remember this because it’s going to pop up again.

The rest of the summer was fine, we went to movies, we took the boy and girl child to dinners and other events – no problems.

We (that is to say husband and I) started talking about visiting my family in California in September and the girl child decided that she wanted to come along…to see my family. I said that I didn’t feel comfortable taking her out of school but it was ultimately up to her father and her mother (the whore). The whore said it was up to the Italian and I’m fairly certain she thought he would say no and come out looking like the bad guy or that I would say no and be the Wicked StepMother – so it all backfired on her and we came out on top… this time. However, I did insist that the girl child had to ask for school work to do since we were taking her out of school for a week.

The trip to Cali was fine – the girl child seemed grateful at the time and said that she enjoyed herself on her first trip in an airplane ever.

The rest of the year went quickly and quietly and at the start of 2016, we started looking at moving out of the house and into our own.

By mid-2014 we were still living without a basement. I was waking up at 4am so that I could get into the bathroom to get ready for work before The Italian had to wake up. Nobody was acknowledging the loss of my beloved cd’s, books and other items, and The Italian’s mother was still intruding at every opportunity. I kept telling myself that it was temporary and that we’d be out of this house and neighbourhood and living our best life as a happy couple in no time.

The Italian’s children would visit on occasion. The boy child would not stay overnight because he had developed anxiety whenever he strayed more than 10 feet from his mommy and the girl child would only do so when it would benefit her in some way.

At this point the children weren’t treating me badly or well and, to be honest, I didn’t really think about them until I had to. They were only in my life when they came to visit and when they left, I didn’t give them a second thought.

Right around this time, The Italian and I started talking about marriage. I never really wanted to be married, it was never an ultimate dream for me. When my friends and I played wedding when we were kids, I was always a guest – never the bride. And when I went to weddings and it came time to catch the bouquet, I was always in the ladies room or elsewhere. However… after hearing all the stories about the whore and how she cheated her way through life, I quickly saw the value in keeping what was mine – legally. I knew that if anything had happened to The Italian, no matter how long we’d been together, the whore would try to claim any part of his estate for her children. So, in the fall of 2014, in front of my family, The Italian proposed and I said yes.

Now, I understand that people see weddings as a celebration of love, blah blah blah and they say the flowery words to one another expressing their everlasting love – so much cringe just thinking about it. But I see the legal contract side of it all. Two people stand up in front of their family/friends/witnesses and a judge or some other officiant, and they say some words that legally bind themselves to each other. I only wanted to go to City Hall with whichever guests wanted to show up, lunch at a restaurant nearby, and then off to a sunny destination for the honeymoon. Two of my family had other ideas of how the wedding of the only girl in the family should go and let’s just say that my vision wasn’t what they had in mind. So… most of the first few months of 2015 were spent planning a wedding that my mother and brother wanted.

Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I will come out looking like an asshole. This is not about making myself look like a victim or some kind of martyr. Truth bombs apply to everyone, including me.

After the Italian and I met, things moved rather quickly. I was never one to date multiple people at once or even one person casually, so it was a-ok by me that he wanted us to be exclusive right away. We did everything together. Movies, dinners, sight seeing. You name it. I got to know his children and for the first little while, his children and I got along great. I didn’t try to be a ‘mother figure’ and why would I. They have a mother – such as she is. Then I really got to know his children. I got to know how selfish the one is and how needy the other one is. The girl child only wanted stuff. Buy me this and buy me that. The boy child didn’t want to leave his mommy’s teat.

By mid 2013, the Italian and I decided that we wanted to live together. He suggested a move to the house where he grew up. We would live there for two years while saving up for our own place. To be clear, we would be living with his mother. His boundary challenged, overbearing, controlling, bedroom right beside ours, mother. To add more context, the Italian told me that years ago his older bro purchased a motorcycle and proudly drove it home. The next day he found it in the driveway with the tires slashed. His mother had slashed the tires because she didn’t want him driving it. The older bro was in his mid 20s at the time.

Anyways, cut to July 2013. I had already started to move my things to the house and stored most of it in the basement in plastic bins and reusable bags. That’s when the storm hit the city. Widespread flooding. The downtown core was a mess. Underpasses were flooded and any vehicles that happened to be stopped under bridges were quickly submerged. Water was gushing/spewing out of sewer grates. I thought it was crazy to be sure but I was still in my apartment and thought my belongings were safe at the house. Nope. The basement was flooded with raw sewage. My belongings in the plastic bins were ok but most of my the items that were in the bags were ruined. Books that were gifts and included personal notes written in the jackets. My cd’s – I had over 350 cd’s – over $7,000 worth of music gone.

The Italian was on his way back from work and was stuck in traffic because the route he took was blocked by the flooding. His phone battery was dying but he texted me to let me know he was fine. Then I received a text from the girl child asking if I knew where her father was. I was so touched that she cared so much to think of her dad and texted me when she couldn’t reach him. I told her not to worry, that her dad was ok and just stuck in traffic. Wow, was I in for a rude awakening. Her reply was something like “sure but are we still going shopping tomorrow?” She was more concerned about being able to spend her father’s money than she was about her father.

I moved in at the end of August 2013 but all my furniture and everything that was saved from the basement was stored in the garage.

The mother-in-law insisted on having the older Bro, who is in construction, complete the repairs. But, since he lives/works about an hour away he could only do the work on the house on weekends. . It took almost a year to get the basement cleaned up and fixed.

The rest of 2013 and into 2014 was pretty shitty.

Anything written here will be true, from my perspective. Names have been changed to protect me and those close to me and to dare anyone who recognizes themselves to come forward with comments proving otherwise.

First a bit of background:

When I met my husband (The Italian) back in late 2012, all I knew was that I didn’t want a partner with children or ex wife drama…aaaannnd, I got both. In spades. I wasn’t able to have children of my own but I didn’t really want to be a mother, let alone a step mother; but now I’m not just any step mother, apparently I am a Wicked StepMother.

My husband has two children from his previous marriage; a ‘girl child’ and a ‘boy child’ and those will be their names going forward. His ex wife is a whore so she will be referred to as ‘the whore’.

The Italian told me that their marriage didn’t end well. At first he didn’t say why or how the marriage but he did say that a mere two weeks after he left their house, a new guy moved in. So I did the grade 3 math and figured out that the whore had been cheating on him for years. This much was confirmed by others in the family and one person in particular, who will be known as ‘the drunk’. The drunk actually told me that the whore had cheated with multiple men. “She was trolling facebook for men” was how she phrased it. But enough about the drunk for now. We’ll get to know her better a bit later on.

It’s going to be a process to arrange my thoughts on what has transpired in my life since late 2012 in a proper order that will bring us to present day, so please bear with me for just a little while.

Thanks,

D.