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Dear Abby,
I never thought I would be writing to someone like you for advice. But I’ve got problems. I'm so stressed I can't think straight. I really need you to answer a question and help me make a very important decision.
I think my wife is cheating on me.
For the last five or six months she’s frequently gone until after midnight. Often she claims to be working late; other times she says she’s out with her girlfriends. Sometimes on the weekend she says she needs to go to the office to do work, but before she leaves she puts on sexy clothes, spends an hour doing her makeup carefully, and applies her nicest perfume. Since she’s a receptionist, I’m not sure why she needs to do all of that or even why she needs to go in to the office when the office is closed and the phones are shut down.
Anyway, last Saturday one of her friends picked her up after dinner for one of those “girls nights”. Another weekend night spent alone, and I had enough. I was ready to confront her. I stayed up for her, waiting in the family room next to the front door where I could see the street in front of our house. Every time a car slowed down in front of our house I would check to see if it was her. Because there's a speed bump right by our driveway, I checked out a lot of cars.
Finally about 1:30 a.m. a black BMW driven by a man pulled up in front of the house. She was in the front seat, so close to the driver she could have been working the brake pedal - with her hands. She languorously disentangled herself from the driver. She lowered the vanity mirror in the visor and repaired her smeared makeup and straightened her hair. When she got out of the car the breeze caught her blouse; it was totally unbuttoned and flew open, the ends flapping in the wind. Her bra was missing, and as she stood there virtually topless she looked back over her shoulder at the driver and giggled. The zipper on her skirt was down and her skirt was hanging half way off her hips. Need I say that she doesn’t own any flesh colored panties? Although she had been wearing some stockings and a garter belt when she left that evening, they weren't on her now.
She fixed her clothes and began coming up the sidewalk to the front door. My golf bag was sitting near the door of the family room, and I crouched behind it as I got ready to confront her.
Then, as she was fumbling with her key in the lock I noticed there was a hairline crack in the shaft of my #3 wood.
So, Abby, here's my question. I know I can get a new wife, but I'm torn about the golf club. It's a favorite of mine, which I've been using for a lot longer than we've been married. Should I try to repair the club, or should I just get a new one?
/s/ Cracked Up in Connecticut.
*******
This was used by our pastor in the sermon on Sunday to illustrate that sometimes what we perceive to be our problems can change if we change what we are focused on. I did add some embellishments, of course.
I never thought I would be writing to someone like you for advice. But I’ve got problems. I'm so stressed I can't think straight. I really need you to answer a question and help me make a very important decision.
I think my wife is cheating on me.
For the last five or six months she’s frequently gone until after midnight. Often she claims to be working late; other times she says she’s out with her girlfriends. Sometimes on the weekend she says she needs to go to the office to do work, but before she leaves she puts on sexy clothes, spends an hour doing her makeup carefully, and applies her nicest perfume. Since she’s a receptionist, I’m not sure why she needs to do all of that or even why she needs to go in to the office when the office is closed and the phones are shut down.
Anyway, last Saturday one of her friends picked her up after dinner for one of those “girls nights”. Another weekend night spent alone, and I had enough. I was ready to confront her. I stayed up for her, waiting in the family room next to the front door where I could see the street in front of our house. Every time a car slowed down in front of our house I would check to see if it was her. Because there's a speed bump right by our driveway, I checked out a lot of cars.
Finally about 1:30 a.m. a black BMW driven by a man pulled up in front of the house. She was in the front seat, so close to the driver she could have been working the brake pedal - with her hands. She languorously disentangled herself from the driver. She lowered the vanity mirror in the visor and repaired her smeared makeup and straightened her hair. When she got out of the car the breeze caught her blouse; it was totally unbuttoned and flew open, the ends flapping in the wind. Her bra was missing, and as she stood there virtually topless she looked back over her shoulder at the driver and giggled. The zipper on her skirt was down and her skirt was hanging half way off her hips. Need I say that she doesn’t own any flesh colored panties? Although she had been wearing some stockings and a garter belt when she left that evening, they weren't on her now.
She fixed her clothes and began coming up the sidewalk to the front door. My golf bag was sitting near the door of the family room, and I crouched behind it as I got ready to confront her.
Then, as she was fumbling with her key in the lock I noticed there was a hairline crack in the shaft of my #3 wood.
So, Abby, here's my question. I know I can get a new wife, but I'm torn about the golf club. It's a favorite of mine, which I've been using for a lot longer than we've been married. Should I try to repair the club, or should I just get a new one?
/s/ Cracked Up in Connecticut.
*******
This was used by our pastor in the sermon on Sunday to illustrate that sometimes what we perceive to be our problems can change if we change what we are focused on. I did add some embellishments, of course.
Very good.
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