When he finally went through her purse while she showered, he found what he expected: a cell phone she’d hidden from him. And in that cell phone was the telephone number of a man and telephone numbers for a divorce lawyer or two.
Think what you will about that, but I suppose that you never really understand a marriage unless you are in the middle of it. (And maybe not even then.) From my vantage point, I see a live grenade about to explode in the living room at the feet of their three children. I cannot believe anyone would pull the pin and throw an explosive device into her own family, but it happens all the time. I wish I could stop it, stop her, warn her, but I know she’d never listen because she’d say I don’t understand.
And I know that I can’t possibly understand the dynamics in anyone else’s marriage. Not really. Not completely.
But I do know what I hide in my purse. And I want to know what you hide in your purse.
(Reese’s Pieces or chocolate. What? You expected maybe a handgun?)