When First We Practice To Deceive

Yesterday was my nineteenth wedding anniversary. I tried to do right. I really did. I ordered flowers, I cancelled appointments and took off work. We went out to a nice local restaurant in the country. I tried to do it right. But in the middle of dinner the wife says,

"So, have you heard from you friend Ms. Blah-Blah?"

Now, Ms. Blah Blah is a real estate agent who happens to have the same first name as my friend Ms. Mahwah Kiss. Stupidly, without seeking a point of clarification I answered.

"She started her own firm."

"Oh, I didn't mean your "special friend" Blah-Blah, I meant real estate Blah-Blah", she snarled.

And we were off to the races. I tried to suggest that it was our anniversary. Perhaps our last one. To no avail. She kept pushing and digging. Had I seen Ms. Mahwah? Lunched, dined, or drank with Mr. Mahwah? Had she been by the office? Had I not even emailed or texted her since her return to NYC?

The funny thing is, if you're a reader of the advochasty chronicles, Ms. Mahwah is not at the top of my hit parade as a love interest to say the least. She is a good, fun, dear friend. But I'm out as a perv with her and there's no sexual circuit breaking going on there.

My wife thinks that I have the hots for Ms. Mahwah because on my first "date" with Crimson friends of ours spotted us and I was later outted unintentionally to my wife. It was one of those comical scenes if you weren't living through it.

I was getting off the train in the country and spotted Dan, one of a couple we know from weekends.

"Hey, Advo, Stevie and I saw you out at Vegan Heaven on Wednesday with a very hot looking babe. We were trying to get your attention, but you seemed pretty engrossed."

Uh-oh. Stevie was meeting Dan at the station and was telling my wife this story as I was de-training. Of course, I had told my wife I was out at a boring, rubber chicken fest of a professional function. With only moments to spare, I decided I would tell my wife that I had been out with Ms. Mahwah Kiss.

Ms. Mahwah Kiss and I are good friends. So are Crimson and I. I'm not running away with either of them. Neither of them threaten my marriage. I suppose I understand that my wife feels vulnerable and unwanted because we don't have sex. She feels completely dependant on me, The Lying Liar, because I make all the money - such as that is these days.

But last night, as I told the dirty, rotten lies of lying liardom and repeatedly denied seeing Ms. Kiss despite our lunches, chats and texts; I longed to stop weaving tangled webs of deceit. I wanted to say that when Ms. Kiss returned from the West she was devastated for reasons I won't share here. I sent her to my shrink who she loved and she's on her feet and okay. I wanted to say I was actually out that night last year with Crimson; an incredible, brilliant, nice, facinating prodomme, who is my wonderful friend and has helped me feel good about myself.

But I can't. It would be cruel. She'd never understand. And on my nineteenth anniversary; despite flowers, making time, and a nice, romantic country restaurant - this was the reason that all this deception just needs to end. My marriage cannot accomodate my life.