The Extra-Marital Affair

A few years ago, if I sat across from a friend who I thought was about to make a big mistake in her life I would offer my time and advice and then watch with a heavy heart as she avoided taking it and dove face first into her fuckfest of an idea. Today, however, I have less time and energy to offer, mainly because I don’t want to develop grey hair or wrinkles worrying about other peoples’ problems but also because life has gotten very boring and i’m in dire need of entertainment.

Now, my method is to listen, judge silently, encourage them to move forward with their insane idea (message the guy who’s practically gotten a restraining order against you? Great idea!) and then sit back and enjoy the ride. If you’re thinking, God what a horrible friend, please know that what I lack in sincerity I make up for with cut-throat sarcasm and guacamole.

Which brings me to my topic today. Extra-marital affairs. It’s noon and i’m sitting across one of my most glamorous friends, between us lie two coffee mugs, plates of eggs benedict, truffle fries and Pistachio flavored pancakes. My friend had just flown in from the Maldives.

“You should have seen how the staff at the hotel were looking at me. Part pity, part terror! I just couldn’t stop crying!” She whispered, her eyes wide with an array of emotions.

“So this is the end for you two?” I ask, biting into a couple of skinny fries. I love the taste of fries with coffee.

“It’ll never be the end. I love him too much.” She sighs, sitting back and adjusting one of the three Cartier bangles on her arm. My friend is your classic tale of has-it-all, so she runs after random things she can’t/shouldn’t have.

“He’s promised to leave his wife for you?”

“No. He says he can’t do that to her. But you don’t understand, he can’t stand her. His family forced him. She doesn’t get him like I do.” She checks her phone for the hundredth time.”You know they all say that, right?” I ask, taking a slow sip of my coffee. The weather is light and breezy, only a few more weeks til its too hot to enjoy outdoor brunches. “I think she’s pregnant.” My friend says, seemingly oblivious to what I had just said. “I’m hoping she leaves him. Maybe she’s just as miserable?””Maybe, he’s not miserable at all.” I try again. The comment doesn’t register. “I have a suitcase of brand new, unworn lingerie!” She half wails. I choke on my eggs. “Do I mail the bag to his house?” She inquires, deep in thought for a second.”I mean…” I start, saliva practically dripping down my chin with temptation, “No. No, that’s going too far.” I develop a conscience momentarily. “I hate him! This was supposed to be the most perfect weekend!” “Have you guys met in real life before?” “No. Just phone and texts…” “And what is he saying now?” “I don’t know, he blocked me everywhere.” “I really feel like he’s totally serious about you but he got scared.” I offer, half internally enjoying it all but also half hoping she’d realize how ridiculous my statement, and all this, was.”He is,” she nodded, with assurance. “And what was his reason for not coming?””His wife said no.”


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