affair, asshole, asshole husband, betrayal, betrayed spouse, cheater, cheating, couple, D-Day, divorce, fuck, fuck it all, infidelity, liar, lying sack of shit, marriage, other woman, wayward spouse, whore
On the weekend, my musician husband was performing with his band at a local fair.
My husband was keen for our children to come along to see his performance.
I told him I wasn’t sure if we’d be coming along, as going anywhere on my own with three little children poses its own challenges.
Plus, we’d been at a kid’s birthday party that morning and our children were all exhausted.
In the end, I decided to take them. When it came time to leave for the performance, my baby was still asleep. It should be a crime to wake a sleeping baby. But I did it, because I wanted the children to see their daddy performing.
I piled everyone into the car, set the GPS, and set off with one grumpy baby and two tired children.
In the car, the two older ones crashed out while baby demanded food. Joy.
When we arrived, I took a guess where the nearest viable parking might be (several blocks away from the fair), placed a protesting baby in pram, and woke two grumps to begin our walk there.
Unfortunately, Google Maps sent me on some fucking expedition in the opposite direction, so we end up walking several blocks needlessly.
I knew then we had missed my husband’s first performance.
But we kept walking anyway.
And then I spotted my husband. He was across the street waiting for the lights to change so he could cross over. He was eating an ice cream and was with two other people, both other band members. I recognised the male, but not the female.
I stopped in my tracks.
The three of them were chatting and laughing away at the lights, unaware of my presence on the other side of the road.
Finally, the lights changed and they began walking towards us.
My husband then spotted us. “Hi!,” he said. “You’ve just missed our performance.”
“I know,” I said.
“We were just going to hang out at the pub until our next set,” he said. “But now I don’t have to!”
He was so cheery.
“Who is that you were walking back with?” I asked.
“Oh, that was….James….and……Gina.”
I looked at him like he was fucking mad.
“Gina?,” I asked. “GINA??”
(In case I need to bring you up to speed, Gina is the fucking slut who sent my husband Facebook messages calling him ‘darling’ and asking, sorry, TELLING him that he should call her “when he can”, and that they should have lunch together. I discovered these messages a month after D-Day. I made him unfriend her on Facebook and I sent her a direct message calling her a home-wrecking whore. She wrote back telling me she was offended. Boo-fucking-hoo, sweetie. She later called my husband and HE told her we were “having problems”. Like it’s any of her fucking business! You can read the full story here.)
Where was I? That’s right, about to punch my husband in the fucking face, metaphorically speaking.
I looked at him with my eyes on fire.
“I cannot believe you’re just casually walking down the street, eating, laughing, WITH HER when know how much stress that causes me!”
My husband had led me to believe he had cut off all non-essential contact with her.
What a stupid, o stupid, husband.
Guess that makes me the stupid wife.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he offered.
“What difference would that have made?” I asked. Guess he would have been more careful to not be anywhere near Gina in my presence.
“You should just go to the pub with everyone else,” I seethed.
“But I don’t have to now,” he protested.
“Just go. I don’t want you anywhere near me,” I hissed at him, careful that the children were not within earshot.
And then I walked away. And I didn’t look back.
I pulled out my phone and began typing a text message to him.
“YOU ARE SUCH AN ASSHOLE.”
I hit send.
And being the asshole he is (and knew it), he didn’t respond.
SUCH an asshole.
PS It was the first time I had seen Gina in the flesh. She looks like an overweight giraffe.