So, my (British) husband and I had been married only a few months when he started accusing me of being places that I hadn’t been, with people I hadn’t even seen (mutual acquaintances) on a regular basis. See, he was out of town, driving a trailer for his brother’s business partner who was traveling around, racing his street performance car.

I denied, of course, because it wasn’t true. But he would continue on with specifics. “Well, Chuck said that you went to the store with Shelly to buy tampons while y’all were at a party.” etc, etc.

All not true.

I got tired of it, and since we were in the bar business, we had often been drinking and had heated arguments about the accusations. I started staying at my brother’s apartment a few miles away.

One night, as I was getting to my brother’s after work (not long after the bars closed for the night), my phone rings and it’s him. I let it go to voicemail until I could get situated in the apartment. I didn’t want to talk on the phone with the risk of waking my brother since he had to be up early for work. When I checked the messages, I could hear my husband’s voice and a female voice, but couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but soon, I could hear them making out.

I didn’t quite realize what was going on until the next morning.

I went home.

You see, that was when we would have fairly productive conversations. There was no alcohol involved and there was a time limit because one or the other of us would have to go to work.

Well, there was a vehicle that I didn’t recognize in the driveway.

I walked in the house and it was just trashed. Wine bottles laying around, someone had eaten late night food, etc.

So I went to the master bedroom, it was unoccupied, and I took a bath to get ready for work. Took my time. No sign of life.

Went down to the kitchen, cooked enough breakfast for several people. Ate mine and plated the rest.

No sign of life.

So I grabbed the cordless phone and went upstairs, and knocked at the only closed door. Nothing. I opened the door, and there he was in bed, all tangled up with a good friend of ours, her lady parts staring straight at me from a leopard print miniskirt hiked all the way up.

I set the phone on the bed, in case someone called, told them there was breakfast downstairs and that I was going to work.

He had slept with her, made sure he “accidentally” butt dialed me so that I could hear them on my messages, and made sure she was there for me to “find” the next morning.

I had had enough. I left him.

A few days later, I get a phone call from him, apologizing. Not for sleeping with her, but because he found out that the person that went to the store with Shelly to buy tampons, as well as all the other escapades I was accused of, was another girl with my same first name. (not a super common name)

Thank goodness, I had been absolved. But it was too bad soo sad.

Here’s where the irony and revenge kicks in:

He went on to date the other girl with the same first name. For two years. Very volatile. We hadn’t been married long enough for him to have residency status and at that point had overstayed his visa. She called immigration on him….and had him deported.

As far as our friend that he had slept with….I ran into her several years later at a club where neither of us knew anyone. She was chatting me up like only a short time had passed and nothing had happened. We went our separate ways in the club when about an hour later, I see her making a beeline for me. She walked straight to me and said, “I’m a fucking idiot. I just remembered what I did to you and here I am talking to you like we are long lost friends! I am so sorry! I’m a total jerk! I’ll leave.”

I told her not to worry, all water under the bridge. Besides, I knew exactly what she gained from the escapade. And it wasn’t much to write home about…