Leslie's BlogDear Leslie Advice Column
November, 21 2010
Dear Leslie,
I found another woman’s phone number in my husband’s pocket. What should I do?”
Signed Fuming after the Searching
Dear F&S,
Your e-mail reminds me of me a story my grandfather told about a woman who was married to the meanest guy in their 1920’s west Texas county. Now he was mean from the moment his feet hit the dirt-covered floor of their clapboard shack until sunset when he collapsed drunk into the sagging metal cot that served as their bed. The poor wife would have been thrilled if he had been a “happy drunk”, but he was the black-eye smacking kind of spouse if the pot roast was late getting to the table. This man believed in spreading his anger far and wide, like a perverse Johnny Appleseed. He was known for dirty fights in town where he attacked unsuspecting drinking buddies with a hidden screw-driver, kept tucked in his belt, if his buried resentments toward them hit a high boil once the gin began to blossom. In other words, he was the local son-of-a-bitch.
Which brings us back to the wife. She was poor, uneducated, and had no friends to help her that weren’t a day’s horseback ride away. Zero women’s rights to combat spousal abuse were as common as the sun rising in the east; you’re married for life, happy or not. But even the downtrodden have a bubbling cauldron of rage and injustice, which in her case (allegedly) simmered into a toxic brew of possibly thinking, “If I go to hell, it’s better than this one.”
The sheriff’s department received a message one evening from the wife to go out to their homestead as there had been a domestic disturbance. Once the officers arrived, and they probably had been half-expecting to see the wife the worse for the wear, but were surprised to see the husband spread-eagle, face-down on the floor with a kitchen knife neatly buried into his back. The wife stood over the body, looked them with a straight steeliness, and stated it was a suicide. A silence stretch between the newly-minted widow and the officers over the ever-stiffening body of her husband, and a silent agreement was sealed; of course it was. She lived the rest of her life in relative quiet and contentment, an accepted part of the community.
My how times have changed. And thank God, because now women have choices that don’t involve cutlery. You can hire a private detective. Pricey. You can attach a GPS devise to the undercarriage of your husband’s car and determine exactly where he spends his time and when. Devious. Or, if suspecting his affections are straying, have frank talks with him and trust your intuition if his energies are being diverted outside of your relationship. Assertive. Proffer the paper under his nose and ask to whom does this phone number belong?
Going to a couple’s counselor or working with a religious leader may be your healthiest way to get to the bottom of a suspected affair. Because as they saying goes, affairs are symptoms that something is wrong in the relationship. Repairing the broken relationship is the goal, and by all means, leave the kitchen tools for slicing pork and lamb chops.