I don’t know who is the more stupiderer. Yes, I know, it’s not a word, but right now it seems appropriate. I trust Mark, I know he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like have an affair or even contemplate seeing another woman, but I have these images that run around in my head. I am a story teller and I take my mind into scenarios that other people really shouldn’t go anywhere near.
As I got into bed last night I noticed a phone on charge on the bedside cabinet. It wasn’t mine and it wasn’t Mark’s. My imagination went into overdrive. Within seconds Mark was having an affair with a tall young leggy blonde. He had the phone just for her, it was a secret phone, one I didn’t know about. So why had he been so stupid as to leave it on charge in full sight. I laughed out loud. I know I was being stupid, but what if Mark was even stupider and it was a secret phone that he had left for me to find. I laughed again.
It turned out that the phone is the works emergency phone. Mark is on call this week.
I love being able to imagine silly things. When I’m driving for instance I imagine the lives of the people in the cars around me. Just recently I drove down to Bedfordshire then up to Leicester before coming home after a lovely holiday. The thing is about driving during the holidays is you are always bound to find a traffic jam, an accident or road works. Mark does the irate driver thing, whilst I use the time to make up stories.
On my way home, I was sure that I spotted the adulterous husband. He was in a BMW, I’m not saying that this man was an adulterous husband, I’m just saying that I made up a life story for him. He had been wearing a suit, the jacket now hung in the back of the car. His tie was still hung loosely around his neck, his top buttons undone. Short cropped hair thinning across the top, his eye brows where slowly turning grey to match. As he pulled up along side me I took a good look at him and the inside of his car. On the passenger seat I could see the top of a bouquet of flowers. Flowers are so telling. When I’m in the queue at the supermarket and see a man with flowers he is doing one of two things, going to visit his mother or he’s upset the wife/girlfriend. I imagined that the BMW man was taking his flowers to his mistress. As he drove off I smiled and he turned, smiling back. I wonder if he would have smiled if he knew what I was thinking about.
On the other hand, I have to buy my own flowers, because Mark would never buy me anything that was cut off in the prime of its life. My ex-husband was a chocolate buyer. If we had a row in the morning he would buy me chocolates.
On the way home one day I popped into the newsagents, I was a smoker back then and had run out. The lady behind the counter asked if everything was Ok, a passing comment, but this time she asked with intent.
“Yes, I’m Ok,” I answered.
“Only your husband bought chocolates this morning and he only does that when you two have had a row.”
Did everyone know then?
“No, maybe I’ve upset him and not realised.” I laughed nervously.
I didn’t get the chocolates, they were destined for someone else, the rot was set and not long after that the marriage fell apart.
Having had the experience of betrayal and an adulterous husband I know that it’s not a nice thing. It’s soul destroying. I also know that affairs take time and lies. Both of which our Mark is useless at. He couldn’t keep time even if his life depended on it. And he’s too intent to lie. Anyway, he would rather have an affair with a computer than another woman and don’t laugh, he does loves me.
I am now realising that having strange imaginary thoughts just before bedtime is a problem, you see it brings on strange dreams. Mine was about being relentlessly chased by a younger man. He wanted to have a mad passionate affair with me. I, on the other hand just wanted to run away and went around declaring my undying love for Mark, to everyone and anyone that would listen. The tables turned, I woke up realising that I could never have an affair. Not because it’s wrong, nor before I am legally married and a messy divorce is a problem. I couldn’t have an affair because I am too old to mess around teaching young men new tricks. It was hard enough teaching Mark how to empty the bins before he put the wheelie bins out every week, amongst other tasks, like not cutting his toe nails in the front room, that one is still on going. I really don’t want to start all over again.
So, the dream was a nightmare and the thought of Mark having an affair became a really strange conversation this morning. Although I must say the real reason Mark wouldn’t have an affair apart from me threatening that if he brought ‘IT’ or anything ‘IT’ had given him home I’d cut off his balls with a rusty pair of shears, could be that like me, he too is too old to teach a new bird new tricks. He could be right I’m pretty much house trained.