My husband Richard and I had been married for seven years and I thought we were reasonably happy. I won’t say we hadn’t experienced our fair share of rocky patches but then who doesn’t?
I was first attracted to Richard because of his dark good looks, his charisma and his silver tongue. He had slick black hair and fierce blue eyes, a perfect jaw line and broad shoulders.
His real talent though was that he made me feel beautiful and downright sexy; in a room full of stunning women he could make me feel as though I was the most desirable woman on earth. I was painfully aware from day one that these were qualities not completely lost on other women.
Wherever we would go I would see the looks. Ladies not only looking Richard up and down but sizing me up as well. I could almost hear them thinking ‘What is SHE doing with HIM?’
I’m not classically attractive but I have some good attributes I believe. I’m not tall but I’m curvy in the right places. I’m not a blonde but I have a natural curl to my auburn hair. I don’t have blue eyes but Richard has always told me that my brown eyes are very soulful.
I don’t hate myself but like most other women – in fact most other people – there are days when I really would love the power to make my derriere smaller or add a foot or two to my height.
I’m keenly aware that there are some gorgeous women out there and that some of those gorgeous women have occasionally caught my husband’s eye. Call me naive but I honestly thought that this was as far as it ever went.
I was just on my way out when I heard the familiar ring tone – the 1812 overture, what does that tell you? I found the mobile still on the coffee table, it was Richard calling from the office. He asked if I could drop the phone off to him on my way to work. It wasn’t a problem.
I hung up and that’s when that little voice spoke to me. The one that says, “Go on…you know you want to”. I hesitated only momentarily. I told myself that I trusted Richard but I had to see.
I opened his message inbox and scrolled down. I was almost at the end and starting feel very tacky when my eyes locked onto the second last message. It was titled ‘Tonight…can’t wait!’ The sender was ‘Annie’.
My head spun and my vision blurred for a moment. I opened the message. The words almost didn’t make sense, I had to re-read them several times before I could actually comprehend what was going on. Something about meeting that night for drinks and then “well…we’ll see”.
I felt nauseated. It was so brazen. I checked the top of the message, it was dated two weeks earlier. My mind raced; two weeks, two weeks! Yes, there was a dinner, a work dinner. Richard had said – oh God – Richard had said that partners weren’t allowed. I thought it was strange but I thought we trusted each other.
Richard is an engineer so long hours are par for the course. We even used to joke about him ‘working late’, as though the idea of him cheating was so very ludicrous that we could make cliched jokes about it.
I wanted to smash his stupid phone against the wall but suddenly an eerie calm washed over me. I can’t explain it.
I drove to his building and delivered his phone as promised. I was just about to turn and head for the elevator when he called out, “I’ll be uh..you know…’working late’ tonight again honey” and then he laughed a very dry laugh.
I didn’t acknowledge him. I veritably shook with rage as I headed for my car. I numbly made it through my day and I literally crashed into the lounge as soon as I got home.
Later, I opened a bottle of red and chewed my way through three quarters whilst barely watching some TV show about vampires when it struck me. Richard used to boast about his ‘glorious head of hair’. He would proudly tell me that all of his family were gifted with the ‘hair of the Gods’ and that he felt really sad for all the ‘baldies’ out there.
I thought it was all tongue in cheek but now that I know what I know I actually think he was serious. He used to slick his black locks back most days with Bryl Cream. He would make it this big part of his morning routine and he would barely grunt dare I talk to him during this daily coiffing ritual.
I headed for his vanity drawer and pulled out his beloved hair product. It all came to me in a flash of inspiration – oh how glorious. I scooped out the hair cream into the toilet and flushed it away forever. I then pulled out some of my hair removal cream from my drawer and replaced every ounce of it.
I slept barely a wink that night and when Richard crept in after one a.m. I actually smiled. At six fifty (after three goes at the snooze button), I tried not to look as my cheating husband smoothed hair removal cream into the ‘hair of the Gods’.
We sat down to eat breakfast and I asked a few coy questions about how his night had been. He looked me straight in the eyes and told me how hard he’d been working!
That’s when it happened. He started scratching at first. ‘What’s wrong sweetheart?’ I enquired sweetly. ‘I’m not sure’ he said distractedly as he scratched more anxiously now. ‘My scalp is itchy…burning’ he spat before running to the bathroom. I followed.
‘Quick wash your head’ I cried and Richard threw his head under the shower and blasted himself with hot water by accident, screaming all the while. I stifled a snigger. He then ran his fingers all through his painful locks (I have to say that the hair removal cream I use is not the polite formula that eases hair off, it’s the industrial strength stuff).
As he inspected his hair and scalp, great wads of hair came out in his fingers. I’ll never forget the look on that man’s face as his pride and joy fell to pieces in the bathroom mirror.
We have naturally divorced since I’m sure ‘Annie’ was none too amused now that Richard had joined the ‘baldies’ that he’d once pitied.
Whenever I have a bad day I think about the hair cream incident and I smile a wicked little smile. Cheating is a horrid bitter thing but revenge is so sweet.
*All names in this story have been changed.
Picture: Getty Images. Posed by model.*
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