Flaming Pants

Confession: I started this blog because of a boy.

An overgrown boy who refuses to marry, keep a job, wear clean socks, or move into any residence requiring a lawnmower. He is the scoundrel who infiltrated the mommy bubble. One foggy morning last year, he woke up, uninvited and unfulfilled, in my bed. (Well, not my bed. A bed. Where he did not begin the night. And where he did not get any action.) And pop!--a midlife crisis was born.

The clock began ticking. The writing was on the wall. The cliches began flowing. I suddenly realized that if I am to have sex with another man before I die, I have only three to five good years left to do so. (Because after five years, who knows where the lady humps will have migrated?)

But these are the sort of thoughts most ladies keep to themselves. I didn't know a single married woman who had cheated on her spouse (although I couldn't say the same for the men I know). So I started this blog as a dumping ground for all the thoughts I couldn't share with my non-imaginary friends.

Then I deleted those months of posts.

And started fresh.

With this abomination.

But something happened the other night. I went out with a few friends. And the Good Girl--the one who's been married the longest to a swell guy, who makes cupcakes that look like butterflies, who scrapbooks for fuck's sakes--did something bad. She hooked up with the Clean Greek.

We know Telemachus is clean because he told her so: "I wash my hands 1,000 times a day."

To which she replied, "You had me at wash."

He murmured, "I think you're clean, too."

And then she took him to her hotel, where they cuddled and shared sweet pillow talk about hand sanitizers.

Now she can't stop thinking about him. She almost friended him on facebook, akin to giving him her digits. She is distracteddistracteddistracted. She is on the verge of writing to Dear Abby.

So if the Good One could pull a shenanigan like this, then where does this leave me? Who is certainly not Good. And where does this say about other married women? Are they all having affairs but keeping quiet? Are we a nation of liars, liars, pants on fire?

(And why am I ending posts with questions as if I am Carrie Bradshaw? Next thing you'll know, I'll be smugly abusing puns and wearing a tutu to catch the bus.)