I know his job is such that now and then, he has an unannounced late night. That when these things happen, he has no real way of contacting me and letting me know. I know these nights happen periodically, and I even know that he mentioned the other day that they'd been doing some work lately that might involve one of these nights. I know this. I know this.

But the reality in my mind, as it gets farther and farther past the time he would normally get out, is not that he is at work. It was at first, then slowly the doubts crept in. A doubt at first, then a suspiscion. Eventually, a worry. Soon enough, a complete distraction.

Now, it barely even seems like a possibility that he is at work, and not banging the blonde from his past in some alleyway, thinking "god, is this what I've been missing. Now, it barely even seems like a possibility that he is not 5,000 miles away, having jumped on the private jet of his rich mistress earlier today, now lounging on a beach on some remote island in the south pacific, batting her two-inch-long labia with his tongue as she crouches over his face-- he never knew he was into freakishly disproportionate female genetalia until he met her.

Now, it seems the best I can really hope for is that, maybe, just maybe he was in a horrible car accident and has left me a rich widow. Though, it was probably on the way back from getting a blow job from a Belgium Supermodel who would weighs only 82 pounds if it weren't for her six ample breasts.


The phone rings. I answer.
"Hello!" He says."You coming home?" I ask.
"Yep."
"Where were you?" Can't help. Have to ask.
A slight pause-- though, not so much a "formulating my answer" kind of pause, more of an "isn't it obvious?" kind. Cocky. "At work." He says. Then, jokingly, "Where were you?"
"Here.""Suuure. I'll see you soon?"
"Yep. Better wipe the lipstick off your collar, first." I tell him, my voice all casual, self-assured.
"Mmm-hmmm. Bye."


I hope I pulled off the confident, trusting wife persona. I hope I meant some fraction of it came from somewhere genuine. I hope I really do have that woman somewhere inside me, the one that thinks of myself as too smart, beautiful and funny for him to really consider cheating on, and if does, so what, there are others waiting in line, maybe hundreds.


I hope her fifth nipple poked him in the eye. On with it.