My wife of nearly two years is cheating on me. I am quite certain of it. I am not a jealous man nor am I a brute or a fool.
My wife of nearly two years is cheating on me. I am quite certain of it. I am not a jealous man nor am I a brute or a fool. I would like you to think of me as a somewhat intelligent man who would not make such damning accusations without first doing some thorough investigation and collecting concrete proof. And so I submit my first piece of evidence: Ever since we’ve been together, the Verizon repair van has been working on the telephone pole outside of our house nearly every day, sometimes twice a day. Generally it will show up as I am pulling out of the driveway or I will see it pull up to my house in my rearview mirror as I am driving down the road. What makes it so strange is that we do not use Verizon. I went and polled my next-door neighbors and none of them use Verizon. Verizon has no business whatsoever messing with the telephone pole in my neighborhood unless they are a) bedding down with my wife or b) undercover federales, disguised as Verizon repairmen spying on me, making sure I’m no instigator.
At first I was convinced they were spies. Why else would they be outside my house at midnight, during rainstorms, on Christmas Day? Initially I took to yelling absurdities at my wife from across the house to throw them off: “The pearl is in the river! The pearl is in the river!” Then I thought better of it for fear of them bringing down the hammer on me, so instead I yelled at them, out my window, “I don’t know what you expect me to say! You’re not going to find any dirt on me! I’m no Pinko! So beat it! It’s just me, the woman, and the cat. No trouble here. Shove off!” They just looked down at me with confusion from that little basket that they stand in at the top of the pole. That’s when I realized what a fool I was. They weren’t spies, they were gigolos, in uniform, cruising the suburbs for desperate housewives, and I had just yelled to them that I was keeping a woman and a cat inside. To make matters easier for them I should have just yelled, “Take my wife… please!”
Soon after, my wife bought a fedora. I like fedoras. Not for me. Not for hipster kooks. But for old men and sexy women. After buying the hat she went to the grocery store and returned with a story she found rather humorous. I did not. “I don’t know what’s with this hat, but it had every guy in the supermarket giving me looks and trying to hit on me.” I pretended not to hear her. When she wasn’t looking I went to my office and wrote myself a note on a Post-it that read “Blow up supermarket.” A week later she came and asked me if I needed anything from the supermarket. She was wearing her sex hat. And I could see her nipples through her t-shirt. “No bra?” I asked. She shook her head no. I followed the gaze of her breasts. They seemed to be looking outside. I looked out the window and I saw the Verizon men looking in at me.
I watched as she pulled out of the driveway and drove away. Next the Verizon van came to life, dropped into gear, and followed her. Off they went to have sex in the produce aisle. I have no doubt about it.
For more of Chris go to chrisnieratko.com or NJSkateshop.com.