For example

He was such pond scum. For example, the last time I saw him, he’d taken my mother’s favorite picture of my Irish grandmother who came to America in at Atlantic gale while pregnant with my Uncle Daniel.

He was such a cheat. For example, while I was pregnant with our third boy, he had an affair with twins across the street. One of them got pregnant, fled the country, and the poor girl and her baby are living somewhere in Brazil.

He was such a liar. For example, he told me he needed money to pay for a new furnace and then took it to buy a purple dune buggy.

He was so devious. For example, he broke my mother’s fine china one night in a drunken rage and then fabricated a whole burglary, police report and all.

He was so indecisive. For example, he left me and then told me he wanted me back, only to leave me again when I agreed to return.

He was so childish. For example, when he had a simple cold, he stayed home from work for a week and ran me ragged with requests for meals in bed, snacks on the fly, and water refills every thirty minutes.

He could be so charming. For example, he complimented me on my dresses, my make-up, the color of my eyes, the waviness in my hair, the curve in my hips – and usually when I felt down about myself.

He was really good looking. For example, he had that dimple in his square-jawed chin, that smooth, alabaster skin framed by jet-black hair, those broad shoulders and narrow hips – and a killer smile that melted me in place.

He was so kind. For example, when my mother died, he held me in his arms while I cried and held my hand all throughout the funeral.

He was the love of my life. For example, no one seized my imagination as much as he did, from the moment I laid eyes on him, and I could never get him out of my mind. But since the divorce, I haven’t spoken with him once. And I like that.