In life, as in love, timing is everything. I suspect I have always known that, which is why I stopped wearing a watch. I also stopped wearing watches when the pink diamond Rolex Jeffrey gave me on our 10th anniversary turned out to be a fake.

He claimed that he was duped by a shifty sales-girl with a lazy eye (I don't know where he comes up with this stuff) but even then, I never believed him. Plus, I never wanted a stupid, flashy Rolex. Jeffrey always bought presents that made him look good, not me. Anyhoo, I digress. Back to timing, which as previously stated, can change your life in an instant.

About a month ago I realized that Valentine's Day was rapidly approaching. My first Valentine's Day without a husband (well, at least, since I'd HAD a husband, and before that a boyfriend and then a fiancée) and while I understood, theoretically that this was meant to be liberating and I should be running through a field naked celebrating my emancipation (show me a girl who runs naked through fields and I'll show you a really big bottle of Prozac) frankly, I wasn't feeling it.

I mean, much as all the menopause mommies (my little nickname) applauded me for "being proactive" and kicking out his cheating ass, they were all still pretty relieved not to be me. Way better to have a spouse who would take them to the Four Seasons, give them a "significant" piece of jewelry and then (assuming they were still sleeping together) fuck their brains out.

So, in a highly unusual bit of advance planning, Annabelle and I made reservations at the Ojai Valley Inn. Our plan was simple — spa it up. What better than being slathered in mud and having some cute girl who is "studying" aromatherapy and has clearly never had her heart broken whip you into a massage induced coma? We took our friend Cody, a vegan exercise junkie who is a self-proclaimed "Love Disbeliever" and who never passes up a chance at Rolfing. (If you've never had The Rolf, it's like being simultaneously rubbed down and slammed into a wall). It all would have worked out perfectly if my house alarm hadn't gone off. Or at least, that's what they told me.

So I've had like, 10 or so "Love YourSelf Chocolates" (the spa's idea of positive re-enforcement, I believe.) I'm in the middle of the "Ojai Flower Facial," my face is covered in this really yummy orange flavored goo (I know because I tasted it) and my cell phone starts blaring the National Anthem. (I have no idea why that is my current ring tone. It may have something to do with the upcoming Presidential Election, or more likely, it's because I've never figured out how to change the ring tone on my phone.)

Anyway, the spa has a "No Cell Phone" policy, but I have young children so I pretty much always blow that rule off. (I've never liked rules, plus the kids are with Jeffrey and I am on red alert). So while the therapist (this one kind of resembles a Valkyrie) glares at me, I grab the phone (not easy when your hands are covered with giant lavender mitts) and see that the security company is calling to say the alarm is going off at home.

Well, that kind of puts a damper on things. I mean, it's Valentine's Day (sure sign of trouble to begin with), I'm in the middle of the best spa experience of my newly divorced life (angels singing, stars in front of my eyes, that sort of nirvana), and now I'm throwing all my clothes in a suitcase and heading for the car. I mean, what with the re-model and all, I've got to make sure the house is secure (also, frankly, because little else in my life is.) Plus the last thing I need right now is Jeffrey ripping me a new asshole because I left a window unlocked and his oh, so significant baseball trophies from when he was a kid (yeah, he's one of those guys) are stolen. (Why anyone in their right mind would want to steal filthy old baseball trophies is beyond me, but Jeffrey has lectured me incessantly on their "sentimental value" plus there's some ball signed by Mickey Mantle that I should have cashed in years ago).

So I tell Annabelle (who is completely naked in the sauna when this happens) that she should stay with Cody, and I'll drive back alone. Thankfully, great gal pals that they are, they insist on coming along for the ride. Annabelle just throws on one of those fabulously fluffy robes (Cody's in some scary, S and M looking gym attire) and like Charlie's fucking Angels on acid (I should note, we've had a little pink champagne during this experience) we jump in the car.

I don't know if you know this, but if you drive really fast to L.A. from Ojai, you can get there in less than an hour. (I'm pretty sure Ojai came to pass so people could hightail it there and back for illicit activity and their spouse/significant other would never be the wiser. I mean they say it's all about the "magical" hills, and the light and the artists colony blah blah blah, but I'm pretty sure Ojai is actually some Native American phrase for cheating.)

Anyway, we're back in probably - oh, I'd say fifty-five minutes — I wasn't driving, it was Annabelle and okay, she was probably speeding, plus we were being bombarded by icky VD (Valentine's Day, for the sake of clarity) love songs on the radio which only made us want to get out of the car sooner — but by the time we screech up the driveway the house seems fine. It's peace and quiet and the neighbors behind locked doors trying to spy on us, as usual. To be clear here, totally status quo.

So we jump out of the car and I open the front door and I notice immediately that I don't hear the little "beep beep beep" that usually signifies the alarm is on. Huh, I think, that's peculiar because if the alarm goes off and the company comes out and checks it they are supposed to reset the thing before they leave. So we're tiptoeing around looking for burglars (by this point I've picked up Jeffrey's signed Sammy Sosa bat and I've got it hiked up over my shoulder, plus Cody's in her karate stance for added protection) and we've watched enough TV to know that we could be in trouble here — we creep into the living room, fully expecting to find someone ransacking Jeffrey's trophy case — and then I scream. Pretty soon after, because they are my true friends and companions, Annabelle and Cody scream too.

Before you get all nervous that this is going to end badly, let me assure you it does. But not for the reason you might think. There are no burglars in my house. Let's be real, burglars would have been far better than this.

Instead, there's Jeffrey, his pants down around his ankles, on top of some chick in VD (it's Valentines Day, remember) lingerie — in fact, yuck, I'm pretty sure it's this Victoria's Secret ensemble that he bought me the year before and well, you get the picture. (There were grunts and squeals involved, but that's about all the detail I can handle).

Jeffrey hears something, finally. I mean, for fuck's sake, there are three oddly attired women staring at him yelling at the top of their lungs. Plus Cody is waving her arms around like Jackie Chan on steroids. And he looks at me, totally unrepentant, and he hisses, "It's still Tuesday! What the fuck are you doing here?" To which I growl, "This is MY HOUSE. Where the hell are my children?!" Which seems to shock him into stammering, "Um...um...at Legoland with my parents. And I'm all like, "...What?!" And he mumbles, "Chill out, E. They came down for a couple of days to help." (Jeffrey's parents live in Berkeley. He's like, the uptight freak of the family. At least, that's who I thought he was.)

Annabelle pulls me aside. "Do you want us to beat his ass?" "Maybe," I tell her. And then I notice the woman dressing in the corner. Really notice her. And for the first time I realize, THIS ISN'T THE CONCUBINE. "Jeffrey," I demand. "Who the hell is she?" "Um...Um..." For once, the shit-head seems at a loss for words. He looks at her, apparently confused. I start to lose my breath a little. "Holy Crap, don't you even know her name?!"

The girl shrugs, like she could care less. "My name is Sonya," she sighs. "Nice to meet you." Cody backs up to me. (You can see she's not letting the girl out of her sight.) "Hey," she whispers. "Isn't that the chick you met at the Whole Foods? The one who was such a big fan of Willa, the three-armed tail girl?" And I look closely and I can't believe it. Cody's right. Long story short, a few months ago I had been in Whole Foods looking for healthy anything and this chick had come up to me to say she was MY SUPERFAN. She was all gushy and went on and on about how talented she thought I was and how she couldn't wait to see what happened with Willa and she was sure I had this really great career ahead of me. I'm not kidding. And I thanked her and went on my way, but it was always kind of reassuring, knowing there were people who liked what I did. You know, from a creative standpoint and all. "Sonya," I mumble. "Yeah, I think that was her name." And Sonya snaps her bra closed and then looks at me, apologetically. "I'm really sorry. I wouldn't have taken this gig if I'd known."

Annabelle looks at Jeffrey, and you can see at this point she's pretty repulsed. "Pull up your pants, you idiot," she barks. Which, oddly, he hasn't done yet, because he's so confused by what's going on. He looks from me to Sonya. "What do you mean, your fan?" I can see he has no idea what I'm talking about. Sonya shrugs, "Hey, I may lay down to pay the rent, Dude, but I have other interests. And by the way, you owe me a grand, regardless."

I don't know why, but I glance over at the clock at this point. It's Valentine's Day, four forty-five in the afternoon, and I know I will remember this moment for as long as I live. For it is at this very moment I realize that Jeffrey's bailing on our marriage for the Concubine has absofuckinglutely nothing to do with me. And, oh yeah, it's also the moment I realize my loser of an ex-husband has hired a hooker.

And as I look around, kind of taking this all in, (and in this moment, I have to admit, I almost feel sorry for the Concubine, who will never know about any of this unless I tell her) I see that everyone is staring at me. And I'm feeling hot all of sudden, like someone has turned the temperature up to like, two hundred degrees and I can feel my face is flushing and I try to shake it off, though it's understandable I think, that I might be losing my composure in this kind of situation, and then Annabelle comes over to me, "Es, are you alright?" And I'm all like, "Yeah, I think so," when I look down at my t-shirt and see this huge stain spreading across my chest and I realize, I'm soaking wet. Much to my supreme mortification, I'm having a fucking HOT FLASH in front of a prostitute (my SUPERFAN) and, my turd of an ex-husband.

Well, that was pretty much my day in a nutshell. After Jeffrey and Sonya got the hell out of there, I took a much-needed shower and decided, just for the fun of it, to check Jeffrey's credit card. No surprise, he had been making huge payments to a company called "Trudi's Hair and Nails," that apparently had an address out in Tarzana, although when I called the number provided, all I got was a machine. Anyway, if you've ever seen Jeffrey, you know he's balding and chews his nails so paying "Trudi" thousands, at least for grooming purposes, was out of the question.

I have to admit, I was surprised. Jeffrey's a lot of things, but I never realized he was a sex addict on top of everything else. I guess that's because he was never a sex addict with me. Or maybe he wasn't an addict at all. Maybe he was just lying to me when he called and left a message that he was now a card-carrying member of sex addicts anonymous and was seeing a therapist three times a week. Needless to say, I contacted my attorney and now all his visits with the kids are supervised, at least for the time being.

So that was my Valentine's Day. I hope yours was better. Although, it could have been worse, I suppose. Because even though they had both had plans (made in random, frantic phone calls on our way back from Ojai, because really, who wants to spend VD alone?) Annabelle and Cody insisted on spending the evening with me. So instead of healthy, sprout-laden spa food we gorged on a cornucopia of treats including Annabelle's special popcorn with truffle salt and Cody's weakness, pepperoni pizza, and watched a Meg Ryan marathon of "When Harry Met Sally," "Sleepless in Seattle" and "You've Got Mail," followed at three a.m. by chocolate fondue and "Casablanca" in HD.

And then, right before I went to bed, I found the Valentine's note the boys had left me. It said "I Heart You" and there was this bright pink heart drawn around the word "Heart" and some little stickers of things like Sponge Bob and Darth Vader stuck onto the red construction paper with sparkly glue.

And really, even when your ex-husband turns out to be a card-carrying whoremonger, what could be better than that?

Happy Valentine's Day.

xoxo

Esme