Back in her mid-twenties, The Loser had high, soft breasts and a marvelously flat belly that she took great pleasure in showing to the world.  As you might expect, it attracted the eye of Bernie, a resident in radiology at New York Hospital.  Although Bernie had a weak chin and receding hairline, it was offset to some extent by a wonderful sense of humor.  They married.

The years went by, they had a few kids, and though it wasn’t a marriage made in heaven, they laughed a bit, screwed every other week, and took a terrific European vacation every August.  In an odd way, as Bernie got older, the Loser even began to like the way he looked.

He had taken up jogging, started lifting weights, and developed that confident patina of successful middle-aged men.  You know what happened next.

Bernie left little wifey-poo for his 28 year old nurse of Danish descent, married her, and started a new family.  Although it was a decade ago, the ex-wife still believes that he’s going to tire of the Dane and return.

Talk about a state of denial.  Listen, ex-wife, Lady, Ma’am, we’ve got to face the truth here.  Even if Bernie were to split up with his current wife, you’d be the last woman he’d come looking for.  Those splendid 36-Cs are now just inches above your waist.  The varicose veins webbing your legs frighten your internist, and she’s seen just about everything.  And your out-of-control neediness threatens to repel the few friends who still like being around you.

What can you do about it?  Look at me, E-man, biggest loser of all.  My wife served me with divorce papers the day after I got canned as editor-in-chief at Dutton Books.  I howl my misery to the world…curse the man who stole her from me…denounce her for the wanton slut she is on every page of my website.  

Let’s commiserate.  E-mail me at E-man@secondbestthemovie.com.  Remember, the only thing worse than being a loser is pretending you’re not.