A message to "Don Juan" and "Mrs. Robinson"

"Don Juan" is the married man paying for a new beemer, a weekly hotel rental and a mistress.

"Mrs. Robinson" is the married woman doing the same thing. Substitute "boy toy" for "mistress".

Message reads:

Your spouse suspects. You know that. Stop being a coward. File for divorce. Or separation. Or marriage counseling.

You are not an international super spy. You will not get away with it. Avoid looking like the bad guy. Come clean with the spouse. Or stop before you're caught.

Separate and be free to screw whoever you want.

Duh.

Message ends.


I never get it. Must be the risk factor. Getting caught is the least of it. Ready to risk getting stuck with massive alimony and loosing the kids?

You aren't terrible people. You're just confused and unhappy. But there are choices: fix the marriage or leave the marriage.

Or act like a jerk, have an affair and loose the marriage and everything else.

Why do so many people chose door number three?

The Trouble With Nice People

They get in the way.

Anyone who says people aren't observant or nice, try surreptitiously casing a place the suspected unfaithful spouse hangs out . You left the stylish heels at home, got on your "jane doe" nondescript look, and are trying to blend in with the trashy scenery. And where these people go, its trashy indeed.

All you want is to hang out, pretending to read that book or magazine you brought along when you're reading the walk-bys. Maybe grab a cup of espresso. Give the block a walk around, see if anything jumps out. But no matter how reserved or unavailable you look, everyone wants to help. Your "jane doe" getup backfired. You've become a magnet for every would be good Samaritan within a mile radius:

"Can I help you?" (I'm looking at a building)

[Thinking: No, go away.] "Oh hi! Yeah, I was looking for (BS name)? He/she was supposed to meet me here."

"I don't know them. You have an appointment with a client?"

[Thinking: mental note: dress down next time] "No, no! Just a social call. We're meeting for coffee. This is (BS address, same business), right? [look around confused]

"Oh, no. I think that one's up the street."

[Look mildly shocked] "Oh! Really?" [Check notebook]

Nice person makes sympathetic noises. I sign with frustration, look lost, then walk off.

And hope I didn't miss anything.

I drive around the block, sit tight reading the weekly for five, figure the neighborhood girl scout has moved on and get out again. In the middle of looking at a roof line I'm accosted by a lady walking her dog who starts to tell me the history of the building. I nod politely hoping she'll finish soon. Before she's done "Don Juan" appears (Don Juan = any male target suspected of infidelity). Its not too bad. He walks by none the wiser and I've confirmed this location. Main drawback is, thanks to the history lesson, I can't get a photo.

By the time she's done, "Don Juan" is long gone (Got the plate, though). Figuring that's it for the day I go back to the car where some random guy wants to talk about how nice the whether is. Whatever. I'm tired and outta there.

Most people are happy to live in a town full of nice people. Most of the time I am. When they don't get in the way.