The Other Woman Part 1

The other woman

Will always cry herself to sleep

The other woman

Will never have his love to keep

And as the years go by

The other woman will spend her life alone

"The Other Woman" by Lana Del Rey

Too much pressure. Nobody ever asks me what I want. Ever. Work is hard enough, with all the office politics and backstabbing. Every day it is bitchy central. I do not have a choice. An expat wife who does not work, two daughters and a son going to international school, music and dance lessons, tuitions, at least two overseas vacations a year, two cars, two domestic helpers, three cats and a dog, a rental apartment that needs USD650 a month in electricity to cool down in summer and the property I asked her not to buy but went ahead anyway and now the rent not covering the mortgage, I cannot be without this job.

Going from bitchy central to mayhem central, home is not a quiet place. All I want is to loosen up my tie, take off the shoes, and put my feet up with a beer, an ice-cold beer, in front of the telly. No one talks to me for thirty minutes. Doing whatever fuck I want in peace and complete silence is priceless. I tell ya, man.

Don't get me wrong, I love my girls and my boy. They are the best things that come out of the marriage. I would not swap them for anything else on earth. It is their mother that I cannot stand. All the nagging. Constant bombardment to the ear drums. You have not done this; you have not done that. Is it such a big deal if I don't get the car to the car wash at this exact moment in time? I don't remember or care where I put the recycling bag. If it costs me 20 cents more to shop here but saves me from driving and having her in the car for 20 minutes, I am happy to pay $20 more, let alone 20 cents. If it wasn't for me investing the money to make up the loss from the property she insisted on buying, we would be looking at a very dismal retirement life. She would not think like that, would she? She is too obsessed with the 20 cents more with the bloody washing-up liquid. Don't you even start me on what she does all day with two domestic helpers and the teenagers are not at home as they are more than happy to do their things outside.

In the bedroom, there has been no sex for a long while now. The only thing "free" I thought I would get for being married. Even that was rudely taken away. She is always tired, and so am I. But that does not stop me from thinking of having sex. It is supposed to be relaxing and invigorating, the same as doing exercise, in bed, instead of in the gym. That fails to convince her, of course. With her age and the changing of her body and hormones, my wandering hand has been pushed away too many times I care to remember. My simple existence annoys her.

Then I met the other woman at work. She has this confident walk like she owns the stage. Sparkling and smiling eyes. I am the luckiest man on earth. I am an average middle-aged man with a dad bod and thinning hair. Why would she be interested in me? But she was. We were unstoppable. I am sure people at work knew but no one said a word. Why would they? The men were jealous and the women…who cares what the bitches thought. Morning coffees, business trips, and ski trips are all extremely fond memories. We got on so well. She is petite and fits into the curve of my arm perfectly. Sex was amazing. I was excited, she was excited. We both were. Everything fits.

It was year five when the wife found out. Five cheating years. Five years of adrenaline to avoid getting caught, five years of lying to the face of the wife and the children, five years of listening ears, five years of admiration, five years of intimate sex. Five years of assaulting my conscience and morals.

Who would have thought the wife would throw that shit when she found out? She broke into my phone, found her number, called and wrote that letter.

That letter.

Because of that letter, all hell broke loose.

#adayinthejungle #cheat #loverat #theotherwoman