It’s exhausting, pretending your spouse isn’t cheating on you. But that’s exactly what I had to do. I had to pretend nothing was wrong. I had no actual proof, and he was not offering any. Even though it would be ludicrous for there to be ANY other explanation for The Pocket Call.
For five days I told no one what I had heard. I spoke only to myself about it, and those were some crazy conversations. I tried to get the hotel to release video to me. No dice. Of course. He and his computer were halfway around the world so no snooping there. I had to simply wait for him to come home to move forward.
I lost my touch with the English language. I butchered about every fifth word. My brain was in tatters. My children could feel the intensity boiling around me. I was really working hard at maintaining an even-keel, but inside I was wound so tight I got hemorrhoids. Now my head, heart and ass were aching.
This wasn’t going in the right direction.
I had to pull it together for me and for my children. They had both just started school, Daddy went away, and now Mommy is really tweaked, and Halloween is coming! I want to be a gory zombie…with a gun! And, as all this was raining down on me, I was smack in the middle of launching a new business with a partner I had known for about 6 weeks. In an industry I know, basically, nothing about.
Entrepreneurs see opportunity, ask questions later, and fear not the unknown. I felt like I had a grip on everything going on in my life except my relationship with my husband. I had no clue what was going on there. Is he leading a double life? Is he at ALL who I think he is? What if there’s another family? WTF is going on here?! This guy is totally lying to me! I was gorging on a buffet of unknowns.
I had to adopt the same entrepreneurial game plan to this crazy situation – see opportunity, ask questions later, and fear not the unknown – and see if I could avoid getting swallowed up by the massive, dense fog of heartache waiting for me to curl up in the fetal position with a dark chocolate-and-tequila drip and Adele playing in the background while candles spit wax on my favorite black suede boots.
I called my friend, Barbie-with-Brains, and told her about The Pocket Call.
“What a douche nozzle.”
I love her. I laughed for the first time in days, and I immediately felt lighter. It was not overwhelming joy – say, a happy dance or anything (HER preferred celebratory extravaganza), but it was noticeable enough to make me crave more. BwB gushed over me like any fabulous friend should – you are amazing, you’re beautiful, you’re smart…actually her words were, “You are do [SIC] smoking hot and sexy and funny and brilliant. He is a dumb ass!!!!”
I didn’t agree. I knew that I had a hand in creating this situation. We were both dumb asses. My biggest mistake was not writing in a side trip to Argentina for me so I could take on a Latin lover, but I have to take credit for writing a lot of the script. Yea, I have a lot going for me ( I don’t know that I can live up to anything BwB said), but our relationship clearly has cracks and I made my fair share. I’d hoped they were on the mend. I don’t know why though. I had no proof there either.
But proof wasn’t going to be my problem.