About a month after I discovered my husband had been cheating on me with a married woman, I was once again hammered with more revelations.
Looking through his Facebook messages, I spotted one from someone I will call ‘Young Thing’ that read “I’m OK, darlin’, how are you?”
Young Thing and my husband play in a band together.
Now I’m no Einstein, but her message sounded distinctly like the answer to a question. A question that my husband had asked HER.
But where was this question? Where was their previous correspondence? Deleted.
Her next message, sent three hours later, read: “You should call me when you can.”
I let that message sink in. The words SHOULD and WHEN YOU CAN kept echoing in my head. You SHOULD call me WHEN YOU CAN. Oh, really?
And then the next day, yet another message: “Or we should do lunch some time soon.”
A month after discovering his affair with a married woman, this was the last thing I expected to find.
As soon as he walked through the door that evening, I was in no mood for small talk.
“Tell me about your relationship with Young Thing.”
“Relationship? There is no relationship.”
“Tell me now or so God help me, I will walk out this door right now.”
“OK, calm down,” he said smiling. I was in no fucking mood for smiling.
He went on to tell me had sent Young Thing a message asking how she was because she was going through a tough time right now. SERIOUSLY?
Really, because I’m working through the trauma of finding out you FUCKING CHEATED ON ME.
“She’s about to get kicked out of the [military] band because she can’t do push-ups properly.”
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
“We’ve all been rallying behind her, trying to give her encouragement. She’s only 20.”
I stared at my 41-year old husband like he was mad.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better??”
“And the reason she’s asking if we can have lunch is because she’s unemployed at the moment.”
A 20-year old unemployed skank who can’t do a fucking push-up. Brilliant.
“Why did you delete your previous conversations with her?”
“Because I didn’t want you to get upset.”
TOO FUCKING LATE.
The next day, I went and found Young Thing on Facebook and sent her a message asking her why she was (a) calling my husband ‘darling’, (b) telling him he should call her, and (c) trying to arrange a lunch date. I told her she sounded like a desperate home-wrecking whore.
She replied a few hours later telling me my message offended her (oh, BOO-FUCKING-HOO, GEN Y BIMBO) and that she did not wish to hear from me again. Then, she blocked me.
She also called my husband at work for an explanation and he told her – wait for it – we were “having problems”. FUCKING HELL.
I told, yes TOLD, my husband to unfriend her on Facebook, which he did but I’m not sure what the fucking point of that is. They still see each other every week at band rehearsal and there’s not a lot I can do about that.
So loyal wives out there, you’ve got to be on your guard for all that shameless pretty young pussy dangling itself in front of our husbands’ weary eyes.
Watch out, Young Thing, this ain’t over yet.