Yup. You read that right. For the past eight months, Husband has been having an affair. His appearance has changed. He’s lost weight and gained muscles. He no longer wears his wedding ring. I smell her on his laundry. He has spent loads of money on precious baubles for her. Even the UPS guy knows something is going on as he delivers yet another box of something for her. All my friends know and they pat me on the hand and look at me in pity while plying me with drinks. All his friends look at him in envy drooling over all her pretty curves and expensive bling. And the fights we've had about her – at first I shared my opinions but he felt so strongly about her and talked about her so incessantly that I just became passive about the whole thing and let him do what he’s been doing with her. Tomorrow, we’re introducing her to all our friends, throwing a big party in her honor. Like him people, will flock to her, want to spend time with her. (And they should - Husband has spent enough on her that she will do anything they ask of her.) I know, a party for your husband's mistress is a weird thing to have but the thing is, I actually like her. She’s absolutely stunning and even I find time in her presence calming and inspiring. I’m also aware that the time he’s spent with her has been so valuable for him. He’s a more fulfilled person with her in his life. It might take some time but maybe one day I will finally accept her for what she is and what she has done and can do for him. One day I will think this affair will have been best thing, the absolutely right thing for our marriage. I can only hope. But now, I’m feeling petty and so here are some pictures of the slut – I mean, the lovely thing before Husband lost his mind to her and I lost the life I'd had with Husband. I'd post 'after' pictures but Husband wants me to wait until he's showed her off to all his friends. Since I've been letting him do whatever till now, I figured I'd let him have this final wish. Pictures of the slut on Monday. Pictures of my plane ticket home to live with my mother on Tuesday.
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Next time he was in Dallas for work, Brother was supposed to fly over to Nashville for a quick visit. Husband sent him a text asking status of the trip. This is Brother's response in grey: As insulted as I am by Brother's statement, he's not wrong. Getting ready for the white coats to come get me. Just wondering what baggage I should bring with me this time... When my mother forbid me from attending my brother’s 5th birthday party, I was upset. I was insulted. I was hurt. I decided she was the meanest mother in the world and I didn’t care that she said I couldn’t go. It was a party for Brother and I was his sister so why couldn’t I be there? So I marched myself down to say hello to the group - my chicken pox riddled body proudly on display.
That one act of defiance resulted in a raging Chicken Pox infection running through the entire party. This was long before Chicken Pox parties were in vogue so I really was cutting edge. Just five minutes of saying hello and shaking hands and hugging and Brother’s entire grade was down for the count. As soon as I was spotted, I was immediately banished but the damage had been done. Evicted, I spent the rest of the party with my best friend sitting in a car at the edge of a rally race waiting for the cars to pass us and comparing our spots. “I have one here. Do you?” And that is how a wash of a birthday party turning into one of my favorite childhood memories. That was when I was seven. And here I am later, so many damn years later, sitting by myself with no one to compare spots with. Only this time it’s not Chicken Pox. This time it’s a swarm of mosquito bites covering my entire body. I’m pretty sure that I have enough mosquito bites to play connect the dots and actually make a picture of something awesome. In fact, that might be a good game to play. A sort of kinky version of “I have one here. Do you?” but instead of it being sexy, Husband can scratch my bites every time he finds one. I’m pretty sure that that could be better than sex. Of course, it would be way sexier if Husband had a billion bites too but I can’t seem to tempt him outside to weed in the mosquito infested grasses with me. Which obviously means he doesn’t love me or my motley diseased body as much as I love him. So I win. If you want me, I’ve taken my prize of anti-itch cream and am sitting by my sad self in the corner to applying it alone. (Scratch. Sniff. Sniff. Scratch.) Nothing hurts worse than rejection and a mosquito bite scratched raw. Except perhaps, a million mosquito bites scratched raw and a total lack of sympathy from your spouse... Warning Husband: Payback is a bitch. |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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