I’m a cheating hussy and my husband couldn’t be more glad of that fact. Now, y’all might be scratching your heads at that one, but trust me, it’s the God’s honest truth.
You see, when I met the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, I was already married to a low-down, no-good skunk of a guy who didn’t know how to treat me right. Sure, he cooked me dinner once in a while. Yes, he took pretty good care of our kids. But that same man had a terrible temper; and he liked to take that temper out on my nice things, throwing them and whatnot. To make sure that I never thought more of myself, him knowing that I was the smarter of the two to begin with, he never missed a chance to put me in my place, especially in public. Them failed English majors sure do have a way with words sometimes.
When you added up all the fors and againsts, that scale came down pretty heavy on my leaving him, which is why, for some perverse reason, that man would do some strange things to try to keep me around. He claimed he was trying to keep me happy, but it always felt like he was trying to control my every move. For instance, he finally got a driver’s license so he could drive my car and not rely on me to take him everywhere. Thing was, he would drop me off places and take my car. Then I had the pleasure of waiting on him to remember, eventually, to come back and pick me up.
Another thing he did to try to keep me around is enroll me at the local university. I’d dropped out a couple of years before, but then married him and had the kids. I figured I would get around to going back sooner or later; he decided for me. I came home from the unemployment office one afternoon (don’t get me started on how he helped me lose my job), to find my registration materials on the kitchen table. I wasn’t doing anything else, so signed up for some computer classes.
It was, as the romance novels teach us, love at first sight. Except I was married, and this fantastic guy knew it. For a year we took the same classes, worked together on school stuff, and got to know each other better. All our university buddies were certain we were up to no good, but it was all good-natured kidding around. That is, until one night when I finally drank enough liquid courage to tell him how I really felt. Thrilled, he asked me on a date the next night.
Our affair lasted three whole days. I moved out from my dead-beat and in with the man who slept on his couch, giving me some crying space that first night. Eighteen years later, I got no regrets with the upgrade.