I gave up dating married men years ago. Essentially, that means that I've given up dating entirely. It seems that I am most attractive to married men. At first, I didn't see anything wrong with it. I have been the Other Woman, the Main Girl on the Side, and the I Thought I Told You Never to Call Me at This Number B*tch. I like the absence of commitment. I adore the gifts. The travel is exquisite because I love staying in hotels, even if it is only for an hour or (with Viagra) two.
I had a change of heart when I met the wife of a man that I was dating. I am not innocent here. I knew he was married. I didn't know that he was married to a saint. She was beautiful. She worked for a nonprofit. She had great taste in shoes. In fact, her shoes were better than my shoes. I wanted to hate her, but I couldn't. I hated her husband instead.
From time to time, one of my friends will come to me to ask my opinion about engaging in an affair. Yesterday, before the sun was up, my phone rang. The situation was simple. He had fallen asleep at her house and now didn't know what to tell The Wife when he returned home in last night's clothes, smelling like another woman.
I usually don't remember what I say on the phone in a state of half stupor and half sleep, but this call had such urgency. I sprang into action after checking my email and flossing my teeth. I told my girlfriend that he had better total his car and break his arm before he went home. I reinforced my point that if he was to return home, 12 hours late, that he must be sporting a cast. Not a bandage. A cast. No one can question you if you have a broken bone. A cast says, "Baby, I would have been here with you except that my arm was stuck in a meat grinder or pinned under a car or something like that. I love you and no, that's not a hickey."
So, we decided that he should break an arm. He wasn't too keen on the idea until I explained it to him. Then, he saw my logic. The problem is that I don't know how to break an arm nor do I have the stomach for it. It looks so easy in the movies. I tried snapping his arm over my leg several times with no success. Finally, I suggested tying one end of a string to his elbow and the other end to the doorknob. He informed me that he was not trying to rip his arm off like a loose tooth, he merely wanted to break a bone.
He is still at my friend's house, plotting his return home.
It seems to me that there are two remaining options. Amnesia or divorce.