I hate to be one of those pathetic saps
who's locked himself into one of those traps
where he feels like he's got to hire someone to follow wifey around,
just because she's not paying him attention and he's feeling a little down.
What is she doing? Where is she going? Why is she coming home so late?
Relax, don't jump to conclusions. It doesn't mean she's got a date.
Besides, if she is sleeping around, then where in this small town would she go?
No cheap motels, no fancy hotels--she'd sneak off to a place where I'd never know.
His place, that's where. She's probably with the homewrecking creep right now.
There I go again, wondering and worrying and having a major cow.
Did I do anything to push her away? Well, I guess I've been a workaholic.
But she should be grateful. At least I'm not a cheat, a druggie, or an alcoholic.
I've never raised my hand to her, not once in our entire marriage.
What kind of man does she want me to be? A prince who rides around in a carriage?
Okay, maybe I could be more romantic and take her out to dinner once in a while.
But I hate the wait, I hate the service, and it's really not my style.
I really am a homebody. All right, I admit it. I'm the world's biggest bore.
That's probably why she's never home and why she's sick of being near me anymore.
I suppose I'm a major jerk who's been taking everything he has for granted.
Beautiful wife, fifteen years of marriage--I look in the mirror and I just can't stand it.
I used to be such a different person, hitting the town every other night.
Now life feels like a hum-drum routine, and I've lost the energy and the inner light
that kept me going and kept my juices flowing. Now I just can't find the drive
to care about the things that matter. What is keeping this old fool alive?
My job is a bitch. My boss is a witch. The work takes the very heart out of me.
So when I come home, there's hardly enough left to give to a dog or even a bumblebee.
I should sit my wife down and talk this out.
Maybe we can figure out what it's all about.
I don't want to jump to conclusions and be paranoid.
That will only make everything worse, which is what I want to avoid.
If I accuse her,
then I may lose her.
Then I may never get back
that mystical connection that kept us on track
for so many years in a marriage that was once blissful.
I think back to the early years, and I can't help but feel wistful.
I fervently hope and pray that this marriage is worth saving.
Because if she truly is being unfaithful, then I can't entirely blame her for misbehaving.