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My First Wife Didn't Cheat on Me - She Died of Cancer
Don't get me wrong, I'm not particularly fond of the woman I'm currently married to or anything, but her cheating is starting to get on my nerves. As far as I'm concerned I could care less what she does when I'm not around, but the brazenness of her recent infidelity is nothing short of passive aggressive, and it's beginning to border on intolerable.
Regardless of the fact that I don't love the woman and probably never did, there is a line you don't cross when it comes to this sort of thing, and when I come home on a Saturday afternoon after a long day working two birthday parties, still wearing my clown suit and makeup to find a fat kid half my age who isn't my son sitting at my kitchen table in his underwear smoking my weed and eating my leftover burrito, I think it not unjustified that I should object. But apparently not. The fat kid, his eyes as red as tomatoes from my pot, took one look at me and started laughing his ass off while my wife started scolding me for coming home an hour early. I started to make my rebuttal, but she told me she refused to argue with someone dressed like a clown.
So I went to the bathroom to wash up and change, and started to get pretty pissed, especially because I'd really been looking forward to finishing the rest of that burrito all day. And so I work myself up into a semi-lather, all ready to go out and demand that, at the very least, this fat jerk go down to Anita's and buy me another asada burrito with everything, but there was nobody there. They'd gone.
Also gone was my Tapatio sauce. The guy had left the empty bottle next to the dirty dish he'd eaten my burrito off of.
Of course, I'd never have to put up with this sort of shit with my first wife. I wasn't really in love with her either, but she didn't talk too much and pretty much left me alone. She also didn't cheat. She died of cancer. Typical.