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Looks Like Someone Let The Affair Cat Out Of The Wife Bag

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Looks Like Someone Let The Affair Cat Out Of The Wife Bag

Oh boy. This is bad. Really bad. I am up adultery creek without a slept-with-my-secretary paddle this time. There's just no denying it. I'm jammed tight between a been-having-an-affair-for-six-months rock and a my-wife-somehow-found-out hard place.

I am so, so screwed. This is one heck of an extramarital-sex pickle I've gotten myself into.

How on earth did Julia find out? I could have sworn I covered all my wife-not-discovering- I'm-fucking-another-woman bases. I guess a little anyone-who-attended-our-last-office-party birdie told her. Gossips! They shouldn't be sticking their accidentally-walked-in noses into other people's fucking-in-the-break-room business. That's how rumors get started.

Come to think of it, I'll bet Julia's friend Lucinda told her. I think she might have seen Kristin and I going into the Best Western a couple of months ago for a little light-bondage-with-anal-play afternoon delight. Man oh man, that Lucinda. I wouldn't mind a light-bondage-with-anal-play roll in the asphyxiation-with-a-belt hay with her. What a particularly-attractive-woman fox.

Okay, I need to stop. That is exactly the kind of talk that someone might overhear and take completely out of I'm-having-sex-with-someone-else context. Then allegations start flying and people start making a might-be-pregnant mountain out of a condom-broke molehill.

Jeez, I guess I've really screwed the not-my-wife pooch, haven't I?

Obviously, there's no one to blame for this but myself. What's been done with my secretary's various orifices has been done, and now is the time to be a man and pay the getting-screamed-at-while-dodging-heavy-objects piper. I just have to remind Julia of the good times we had together. Things haven't always been so bad these past 16 years. We've supported each other through inheriting-a-small-fortune-from-my-deceased-father-through-no-merit-of-my-own thick and me-losing-all-of-our-money-in-an-Estonian-pyramid-scheme thin. This is just another made-empty-promises bump in the borderline-psychotic-mistress road, right? We can get through this.

Then again, maybe it's time to accept that it's over. I mean, I probably wouldn't have strayed if things between Julia and I had been great. Perhaps we should both just admit that there will always be a me-repeatedly-cheating-on-Julia- while-she-descends-further-and-further-into- alcohol-and-prescription-drug-addiction rift between us.

Sometimes people just drift apart and no one really knows why.

Oh God, but what about Jimmy, Jr.? What will I tell Jimmy, Jr.! He really looks up to his old man. And, you know, maybe he isn't exactly the son I dreamed I'd have, but so what? He is so unique and creative. My Jimmy is the almost-certainly-homosexual apple of his daddy's disappointed-he-didn't-make-JV-football eye. Christ, how I hate to disappoint the boy like this.

I guess the old saying is true: "When it rains a bunch of terrible problems brought on by myself due to my bizarre, uncontrollable sexual appetites, it pours." I don't know what's going to happen from here on out, but God willing, the return-to-status-quo-so-I-can-continue-my-adulterous-habits-while-ultimately-not-addressing-the-issues-that-are-destroying-my-family sun will come out tomorrow.

And you know what? I have a feeling it will.

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