Even the breakups that I took hardest had their silver linings. No matter how much I was going to miss her, she undoubtedly brought someone into my life whom I wasn't going to miss in the least. On this Thanksgiving, it is for these latter assholes that I am stankful. Specifically, I'm stankful for their absence.
Iris (Celeste's mother)
My first in-law type was an unrepentant bitch. The first and only woman who ever predicted that I would be a wife-beater. She was a WWII British war bride whose husband upgraded, and she subsequently hated all men. When Celeste was a child, Iris told her sweet things like "Men are so revolting. They want to urinate inside you." Buh-bye.
Ken (Maddie's father)
He hated me for making him superfluous to his daughter. I hated him for being a racist piece of yak shit. One day, to Maddie's abject horror, this uneducated trailer-dweller was holding forth about the intellectual inferiority of minorities. Maddie tried to correct him, but he got angry. So I pointed out that my black best friend was (and remains) the smartest person I've ever met, with an IQ well above Einstein's. "She has some white in her. They all do," he declared effortlessly. Jesus H. Buh-bye, Cooter.
Donna (Fucking Amy's mother)
When I have to put a face to evil, hers is the one I conjure. She was my first experience with born-again Christianity as a despotic, anti-intellectual means of control, and it was a defining one. I will never forget her satisfied smirk as she destroyed my relationship and, for quite a while, my life. I don't miss her self-serving proselytizing, how what she wanted always happened to be what Jesus wanted, too. If there's ever an open season on ex-in-laws, she will be the first one I bag.
Christy (Phil's wife)
This list isn't restricted to romantic relationships. Christy was my first Yoko. The gang was me, Lynn, Sue, and Phil. Then she invited herself along. Despite the fact that she had nothing of remotest interest to say (truly, her only hobby was watching home shopping networks, which were always on), we grudgingly made our happy quartet an awkward quintet. Until they disappeared without comment and we became a trio. We all miss Phil, but it's never without a twinge of happiness about the silver lining. Christy was a social control rod, lowered into a nuclear reaction to stop it cold.
Khristi's monkey
Different Khristi. I dated this one. When your new, wildly erratic girlfriend speaks cautiously about how she "used to" be addicted to meth, just save yourself some time and bail.
Anyone Bubba 1 ever boinked
From his shrewish ex-wife to the proud loser for whom he left her, he never, ever dated anyone I could stand. The latter loser, especially, was indulgently moronic. She concocted preposterous narratives in which she was the master of the known universe, and he bought into them. As I watched her chip IQ points off him, I couldn't stand to be around him, either. Hence the invention of Bubba 2 for football weekend purposes. So much more enjoyable without a Yoko calling every twenty minutes to be sure my buddy was thinking of her. And Bubba 2 and his cell phone don't disappear for entire halves at a time. Bonus.
Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good riddance.