Give. Me. A. Break.

You know that feeling you have sometimes when something just seems to take too long, like standing in line at the grocery store or waiting in traffic? That person in the express lane at the grocery store didn’t have 10 items or less; you can clearly see at least 20 things in the cart, and the people waiting behind this person are pissed off. Or, that person who refuses to merge into your lane until the absolute last second, trying to pass as many people as possible, and then causes traffic to grind to a halt as he tries to shove his way in? You know that feeling they give you, that “why the heck did you have to do that?” feeling that makes you want to just slap them across the face and yell at them to be more considerate? Well, that’s how I’m starting to feel these days about my wife and her miserable affair.

It’s been dragging on for 3-1/2 months now. I realize that might not be a long time, especially when you hear stories of spouses who string affairs along for years on end, but to me it’s just really starting to get tediously irritating. Today I hear her complaining to a friend about how she hasn’t seen the adulterer in nearly three weeks. Big friggin’ whoop, that’s what I say. Sometimes we have unexpected allies, and this week it was Mother Nature, who decided to dump a bunch of snow on us for 5 days straight. Lest I remind you, my wife’s lover is a gardener, and snow means no work, he stays at home, 40 miles from here. Then today it starts to rain. That means slush and mud, again, no work, he stays at home, 40 miles from here. Add to all of this the evidence that things do not seem to be going well for them, and you might expect that my wife is getting a bit antsy. Of course, I’m the target of her irritation. She gets irritated if I treat her nicely. I gave her a magazine to read yesterday — slipped it in her bag before she left the house — and although she thanked me for it, she wanted to know why I gave it to her. Please, spare me. Because I wanted to, alright?

So today she arrives home as per schedule, right around 9:00 a.m. I feed her breakfast; she leaves the dirty dishes on her office desk. I offer her lunch, and she tells me she suddenly has changed her dietary requirements — she won’t eat pork now; this is the influence of her lover, of course. A couple of weeks ago she was off the sweets. No refined sugar. Except, of course, for all those chocolates she ate while she was trying to pack boxes. She was so stressed out by it that she at almost a whole box of bon bons. Anyway, I give her a “dumbed down” version of lunch which she again eats in her office. Then she goes about crimping her hair and plucking her eyelashes. This is a signal to me that she is probably going to see the adulterer; that’s what she did last time she saw him, too. I don’t know if that’s the case or not, since I left for work before she took off.

Honestly, as much as I hate this affair — and I truly hate it — half of me actually wants her to be with the adulterer right now. I know things aren’t working out for them, I’ve overheard plenty of stuff. I know the circumstances of her life are really starting to weigh on her conscience very heavily. I know she feels a tremendous sense of disappointment that she hasn’t managed to make her fantasy become real, and that she feels an enormous burden of guilt for the pain she has inflicted on myself and others (e.g. my family) in her selfish drive to live the fantasy. And I’ve heard her say that the lover is insensitive, somewhat crass in his speech, defensive, and unaccommodating. You can just imagine how that’s going to work out.

Sometimes you hear stories about people who leave their adulterous lover because they realize that life with their spouse was just as much a pain in the neck as was life with the adulterer. The key difference is that the relationship with the spouse is one of substance and reality, while the one with the adulterer is just a insubstantial fairy tale. I’m beginning to hope that my wife sees that the relationship with this adulterer is actually worse than even her worst times with me. But, the dopamine addiction clouds everything over, and they ignore pretty much all the warts, pustules, pimples, and boils until at some point they become so grotesque that they cannot be overlooked anymore. I think we may be starting to reach that point.

For now, this means I wait some more. Weekends are busy times for me, and I have a full day ahead tomorrow. I’ll be gone all day. If I don’t see her tomorrow or Sunday, then I’ll know where she is. I don’t need to ask the “friends” that she’s staying with — I’ll see one of them tomorrow — they lied to me straight to my face about her whereabouts the last time she went off with him. I’ll just bide my time and wait for the house of cards to blow down. It won’t take much, considering her fragile state of mind.