Have you ever noticed that you can take a fool proof plan, toss a woman into the mix, and all bets are off? I guess all men should expect it when they get married. My plan was brilliant in its simplicity. My problem turned out to be complex. It involved predicting what my wife of 22 years would do.
The economy was circling the bowl and sinking fast. My wife, Caroline, had somehow managed to maintain her position as manager of the local branch of a large food chain. I never considered her overly bright, but she had somehow managed to pull the wool over the corporate eyes of Food King, the largest chain on the East coast. While people all around were losing their jobs, or at least having their hours cut, Caroline had somehow cajoled a couple of raises from her superiors.
Of course, I was more than a little suspicious. How could a woman be so successful in such a demanding and difficult position? You guessed it. It must have been her good looks and still smoking hot body. I sure didn't marry any dog! Caroline was a lovely woman in her mid forties. Her tits were bigger than ever, still full and firm and her ass was so tight you could bounce a quarter off it. We never actually discussed it, but I suspected that she used her charms to climb the corporate ladder. There could be no other explanation. I had read enough on the internet to know how married women got ahead in the work place!
I had my own business. Years ago, I had realized that I didn't want to work for some asshole, making him money off my sweat and considerable skill. For that very reason, I had started my own company. I was having a tough stretch with the business at the time because of the recession, which I feel strongly is a depression that the government is trying to soft pedal. When things get tight, fewer people are inclined to buy hand crafted outdoor benches carved from large trees with a chainsaw. It was one of those luxuries consumers chose to forego, as much as they admired my skills with a power tool that so many feared to even pick up.
That's how I came to have twenty nine fucking beautiful, but unsold, benches stockpiled in my back yard. I was sitting on one, polishing it up a little with my ass while working on a cold brew. Then I heard a commercial on the radio that caught my attention.
Jessica Simpson was going to be appearing in concert next month at Bethel Woods, the site of Woodstock forty years ago! That was only an hour away from our home. The very thought of seeing her perform her greatest hits made my heart race. I popped open another beer and considered how to proceed. Caroline had me on a short leash since I hadn't sold a bench since the fall of 2007. I was allowed two hundred dollars a week spending money, and that included the materials and fuel I used for my business.
Fortunately, we lived on her family farm and I had a couple hundred acres of forest from which to select the best materials for my benches. We also had a gasoline storage fuel tank on the property that Caroline kept filled, so I was able to avoid that expense. Still, I had to purchase a few new cutting chains and bar oil now and then. I tried to keep the old chains sharpened as long as I could so I didn't cut too much into my golf, bowling, and beer money in any given week.
Caroline wasn't nearly as big a fan of Jessica's talents as I was, so I worried that she would put the brakes on my going to the concert! It was even less likely that she would buy the tickets with her money. I had heard her argument so many times, I knew it by heart.
"Bill, you already get $200 per week. You should be able to save enough to purchase your own incidentals," she would admonish me whenever I hit her up for some extra cash.
I calculated that tickets for good seats for Caroline, me, my brother, his wife, and my sister and her boyfriend would cost around two hundred and fifty bucks. Even if I did manage to save enough money to pay for them, Caroline would probably try to talk me out of going. Besides, in order to save that much dinero, I'd have to cut back on golf to just a couple times a week for the next two months. That idea did not appeal to me. I had an image to consider, as well as my manly pride. Scrimping on my golf would not impress by buddies at the club.
Then I thought of the money Caroline puts aside for her stupid charities! She always donated money to the local women's shelter, as well as our town's food pantry. She absolutely refused to consider my suggestion to send a little something to the NRA.
Caroline had a box concealed in her closet where she stashed her left over cash. She put five and ten dollar bills in it more often than I put my extra nickels and quarters in a jar on my nightstand. Once I accumulated enough change to purchase a six pack, I scooped it out and headed for town. Caroline, on the other hand, would donate seven or eight hundred dollars a couple times a year to her favorite charities! It made no sense, but I had learned over the years that married men have to accept certain quirks in their wife. Certainly Caroline always gave me all her love and never held back in the bedroom, so why even try to teach her how to be more frugal?
She probably had no idea exactly how much money was in her stash, so she'd never miss a few hundred bucks. I went to her closet, counted out three hundred dollars, and drove to the closest ticket outlet. The tickets cost just over two hundred and fifty dollars. After getting the tickets, I saw a great deal on a new pair of bowling shoes and a dozen golf balls, so I had just three dollars and change left when I returned home. Going to our bedroom, I tossed the change in my jar and put the three ones back in Caroline's charity fund.
Then I fired up the computer to compose the letter I had in mind. It took a while to find where Word was located since I normally only used the computer to surf the web for porn. Eventually, I had a very professional letter printed. As I read it over, I knew Caroline would never doubt its authenticity. It even looked real to me, and I wrote the damn thing!
My plan was simple. The letter informed Caroline that she had won a promotion from a local restaurant we frequent. The prize was six tickets to Jessica Simpson's concert at Bethel Woods! I included the tickets in the mailing, so Caroline would be convinced, and we could start making plans to watch Jessica Simpson strut her stuff. All I had to do was wait for Caroline to give me the great news that she had won the tickets. Then I would call my brother and sister and make our plans.
A week passed and Caroline never mentioned the tickets. I began to worry about the dependability of the US postal system. I carefully quizzed Caroline to see if her mailing address at work was still the same. I had mailed the tickets there since I pick our mail up at the mailbox every day. I feared it would look suspicious if I showed up with the letter at home.
By the middle of the next week, I was wound tighter than a piano wire. What was going on? Gradually a scenario took shape in my mind. Caroline was not going to mention the tickets to me. She was probably going to make up some story that she had to be away that night. Then she would take people from her work to the concert. That probably included her district supervisor. Then I wondered if he managed to get into Caroline's panties already. I decided to keep closer tabs on Caroline and either put my worries to rest or catch her in the act.
I sat parked near her work for a few days, watching her car as well as the building in which she worked. The surveillance thing was cutting into my time on the links, so I made the decision to switch to a few random checks on Caroline's activities. While watching her car those few days, a deep sadness began to fill my heart. I had never loved anyone but Caroline. I had never been unfaithful, or even close. She was a great mother to our two daughters, an incredible lover, a wonderful friend, and the best company a man could ever hope to have.
I debated whether I could pretend nothing was wrong so I could keep her in my life, hoping she would eventually terminate her affair. As much as I dreaded losing her, I came to the conclusion that it just wasn't in me to share her with any man. I couldn't live like that. Knowing that once I got the goods on her, we would get divorced, caused me great pain.
Then one Friday, it all began to take shape. Caroline left a message on our answering machine that she had to attend a meeting after work and that she would not be home until late. This was the Friday before Jessica Simpson's concert. I found myself parked where I could watch Caroline's car that afternoon.
Just after five she came out and drove toward the Casey Highway. I followed several car lengths behind. My heart was pounding when I saw her pull into the Radisson Hotel's parking lot in Scranton. As Caroline walked to the entrance I noticed that she had changed from the clothes she had worn to work that morning. This was not looking good.
As luck would have it, it took me a few minutes to locate an empty parking spot. By the time I got inside the old hotel, Caroline was nowhere in sight. I decided to sit at the end of the bar so I could watch the lobby. I don't know how long I waited but I do know that I had four beers. I was feeling more and more rage, as well as despair. What was Caroline doing? Was this the end of what I had thought had been a great marriage?
.... There is more of this story ...