I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your first name. Like some other recent events, you haven’t had much choice in your name being public. And with the way they make your ex-husband and his co host appear like a warped breakfast family, I thought we were all on some kind of first name basis. Karl, Lisa, Cassandra and oh, look, now there’s Jasmine.
Or more aptly, Miss Mid Life Crisis. Now, none of us fell for the pictures of ‘loved up Karl and his MLC’ at the various events he’s been running off to. But the last couple of days, she’s been wearing a ring. Oh, Cass. He’s marrying his red convertible! I so would have brought the cake and got drunk with you on cooking sherry while me and the 800 million other women, and men, who get it spluttered with mirth and took bets on how long this commitment to his toupe can last.
Except you seem to have higher standards than me. You’ve shown nothing but grace under fire. Perhaps you would only have got tipsy.
It’s so predictable. We all know what’s next, right? Karl and his MLC’s crassly expensive wedding, then MLC’s rumoured pregnancy and then finally, the baby. I’m calling 2 years tops til there’s an MLC jr. Cos this MLC isn’t stupid. They’re good, these young ones, the designers, at holding back the bile. She’ll wait patiently until her slipper business takes off, and then she will too, with the baby of course, leaving Karl ‘devastated’, ‘shocked’, ‘heartbroken.’
They say you came home from the grocery run to find that the man with whom you have worked alongside for 21 years to create a world and family of your own had his suitcase all packed. Just as well you didn’t stop for petrol on the way home, or you might have just got a text. Seems like that kind of guy.
You were blindsided, they say. We’ve all been there. It’s like the sky falls in on the earthquake. But what this man did was make it public. Because he thinks he’s Australia’s big brother or fun uncle, when it’s clear from his actions alone post-Woolworths, (he didn’t make you go to Aldi did he?) that he’s a spineless sociopath.
In contrast, you’ve acted with remarkable elegance, dignity and integrity. You’ve made the information clear and brief. Millions of Sydney dollars don’t fill the giant hole he left in your family when he had his identity freakout at your expense. And you’re not playing ball.
‘Dead to me’, is an excellent turn of phrase. Bravo.
In any other universe, he would be a laughing stock. An early 40s guy who wears the same suit every day, who leaves his happy family to run off with his MLC. They’re all doing it, aren’t they? Ewan McGregor, that football coach, even the marriage experts, like Barnaby Joyce. Those precious moments in the maternity ward mean nothing when you’re looking 50 or 60 straight in the face. And to top it off, the new girls think it’s going to be different with them! Oh, Cass, have you got a corkscrew? My sides have split.
But in the hick town called Australia, Karl has an advantage. He’s Jamie Packer’s mate. Goes on his boat. Laughs at his jokes. You probably helped nurture those relationships in the interest of his career and his social life. Probably stayed home while he was out with his big shot mates schmoozing and drinking and honing his charisma. And his sociopathy.
So I just wanted you to know that there’s at least 800 million of us that get it. Woman’s Day can flog it any way they want, but it’s the same old story. We can see it in her eyes, and we can see it in his. And most of all, you exceptional lady, we can see it in yours. We look forward to your every success.