It was, coincidentally, my birthday and I was out of town, doing my yearly "You deserve to get away by yourself, honey (so that I can stay here and fuck around)" vacation. I have only recently started calling it the "You deserve to get away by yourself, honey (so that I can stay here and fuck around)" vacation. I used to call it the "Isn't my husband sweet? He wants me to be able to have adventures on my own" vacation, but those were the good old days when I was blissly ignorant of Mr. N's shenanigans.
January 14th I got a call from him that was rife with perplexing details about the night before. He was breathlessly excited about having gone out with his friends John and Bill and it was all that he could talk about. When I say, "all he could talk about", I mean that he was not talking about my birthday or that he had forgotten it completely. He said that John and Bill, who live five minutes from us, drove into the city together and that he drove separately (perplexing detail number one - PD#1). He said that he got separated from them and couldn’t find them (PD#2 – the venue was pretty small – and they couldn’t have just called each other on their cell phones and met at the front door?) but luckily just happened to run into "a bunch of United Airlines gate agents that he sees all the time". He said that he ended up hanging out with them and having the best - time - ever. (PD#3).
He said that after the show they couldn't remember where they had put their car (too drunk) and he helped them. He never found John or Bill and so he went home. And that he'd had so much fun. So much. (Really? They were fun? The gate agents I’d seen at the Cleveland-Hopkins airport never seemed like party girls to me. I'm going to have to call this PD#4).
He told everyone about it - a hundred times. He was so excited recounting the magical evening to our daughter that she called me, and for the first time asked me if I thought there was something up with her dad. He told his mother, our friends, and even Mom Jeans, who was obviously jealous (after all, if he was going to be partying with a bunch of 50 year olds wearing mom jeans, why wasn't she invited?)
At the time it was annoying to have to listen to him blather on about it continuously, but I really didn't suspect anything more than what he was saying until I got home and read the emails from Daisy May Trailer Trash.
Accurate Detail #1 - He drove to the concert on his own because he’d invited Daisy May to come and he didn't want his friends to cramp his style. He lost them, AD#2, on purpose and found the "ladies" from the President's Club, who turned out to be not "ladies" at all, but just one slutty lady, Daisy May (AD#3). She couldn't find her car because it was at her home (40 miles away - AD#4) and he helped her by taking her there and buying her breakfast (AD#5). The in between parts are fuzzy, but maybe only fuzzy because bringing them into focus is too painful for me. There is a hotel bill on the AMEX for that night at a Ramada that is just a few minutes down the highway from Daisy May's house - he says he put up an out of town guy who was there working with him. I know - it's an obvious lie. AD#6 - He drove her to the Ramada, screwed her, took her to breakfast, and then took her home.
The only puzzling thing was his compulsion to talk about it to everyone. You'd think it would want to keep it to himself for fear of someone hearing the lovesick passion in his voice, but he really couldn't help himself - Daisy May was giving it away and he got some.
And I suppose that he needed a story – it was going to come out that he had ditched his friends and I guess it was better to head us off at the pass and be the first to bring it up.
When I asked Mr. N what she looked like, he said that she was our age and frumpy - instead she's 35 and, no beauty queen, but not exactly a frump. All of Mr. N's lady friends make me sick, but Daisy May does it in a special way. She's the one I can picture him starting a new (mid-life crisis) marriage with and she's the one that would be most likely to give Lauren that little brother or sister that she never wanted.
She's married, but this underpaid United Airlines employee married to a working class guy is apparently looking for an upgrade.
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