You don’t know me. I run an infidelity blog. I happened to have dinner this evening seated next to your cheating wife. She was with this really douchey guy about 15 years older than she was (late 40s, early 50s). The kind of guy who flips his collars up, even though that ceased to be cool about 1986. The kind of guy who fucks married women.
I tried not to overhear, but your wife has a voice like a foghorn. I was seated alone. (I’m on the road traveling.) Tired from a long day, I brought a New Yorker with me for company, and I was enjoying this really great article by Oliver Sacks on Gefilte Fish when this horrible voice boomed, “BRING US THE BEST THING ON YOUR MENU! What’s the BEST?!”
The waiter stammered, “Well, the slow-cooked beef is really good…” and then went through his list of specials, none of which was salmon. “DO YOU HAVE SALMON? I LOVE SALMON.” Then she nattered on about all the other restaurants which have really great salmon — Alaskan sockeye WILD salmon — the BEST salmon — and THIS place Had No Salmon.
(Dear Cheating Wife, this is Lancaster County, Pa. You’re at a farm-to-fork restaurant featuring produce and meat from Lancaster County. Last I looked, there were no locally sourced Alaskan salmon in Pennsylvania. Perhaps you could put in a request with the Amish.)
Irritating diners. Whatever. Back to my New Yorker. They make chitchat. I assume they’re acquaintances or co-workers having some business dinner. Then I hear, sotto voice, “But I’ve always loved you unconditionally.”
Douche mumbles “Well, I love you too… but it’s complicated.”
I now must eavesdrop on these idiots. I cannot concentrate on anything else. I imagine telling them right then in an intimate dining room that they are fucking evil. I consider slipping the waiter a note and asking him to spit in their food.
Your cheating wife inquires after his wife. He says, “There are economics involved.”
Then your cheating wife launches into a long soliloquy about her love for the Douche.
“I just followed this path. I thought it was what I wanted. We built our dream home. But I never gave up my love for you. I always wondered and held out hope. I’ll always love you.”
Douche mumbles something incoherent. Roughly translated I think it was “Thanks for the kibbles, but let’s just fuck now.”
Then Josh, your four-year-old daughter called. Your wife’s voice went up a couple octaves.
“Honey! Did you get TAP SHOES? That’s so awesome! Mommy misses you! Love you!” Then your mother-in-law got on the line and I heard “Mom, thanks for getting her tap shoes!” Your mother-in-law is babysitting while your wife is cheating with Douche. I don’t know if your mother-in-law is in on it. This doesn’t look good.
I know your daughter is four, because Cheating Wife mentioned that she still naps and enjoys pre-school. And she told Douche all about her complicated life as a mother, how she wants to home school, but your daughter needs the socializing. Cheating Wife is just So Busy and Really Wishes She Could Spend More Time With Daughter (meanwhile she’s at a hotel restaurant with Douche).
Josh, I think you’re supporting her stay-at-home-fuck-other-men lifestyle. I’m sorry.
I’m also sorry for your 10-year-old son from your first marriage. (Please tell me you didn’t break up your first marriage for this horrid woman.) Apparently your son is very fond of the four-year-old, after some initial jealousy. Douche asked after him. Douche’s kids are in college. Douche thinks it’s ridiculous that his college-age son expects any financial help with college. (However would he finance your wife’s salmon habit?)
Anyway Josh, I’m sorry I didn’t get a name or throw water in their faces or take a picture of them. It was gutless of me. They suck. I thought you should know.