The Birthmar

My name is Mason Youn and I've been investigating my wife Carrie's involvement with an as-yet unidentified other man. My investigation has suffered a couple minor setbacks; my attempt to procure a saliva sample from her for my do-it-yourself DNA test has so far been unsuccessful and my stakeout at her work was disrupted by the police. However, I remain undeterred and I am determined to press on in my quest to collect evidence of her illicit liaison or liaisons. Little did I know that before the end of the night I would make a significant discovery and turn my entire investigation on its head.

After the police encounter in front of my wife's work I was so flustered that I barely made it home without having an accident on the road, or in my pants for that matter. After a stiff drink or three to settle my nerves I got right down to checking the audio and video files from my top-secret home security system. It was still a couple hours until Carrie got off work and picked up Amanda from day care and started home.

Much to my disappointment the hidden cameras and microphones hadn't recorded anything out of the ordinary, so I reviewed the phone recordings and got a bingo; my first big break in the case. A phone call was received at my residence this morning just minutes after I'd left and pretended to go to work. The phone call was from her boss, Sal Zee.

Salvatore Zee, or 'Sal' as everyone called him, was a big, bald, boisterous blowhard of a boss. His wife was a demure and gracious woman, pure class both in looks and deportment and for the life of me I could never fathom what she saw in him. But by the end of his phone conversation with my wife this morning I began to suspect exactly what she saw in the horses ass. My heart was pounding as I played the recording of the phone call.

After exchanging appropriate greetings Sal Zee launched headlong into the reason for his call.

"Can you come into my office during lunch and take care of my package?" asked the slimeball, "It really needs to get out today." Get out of what, his trousers? A slow burn began in the pit of my stomach.

"How big is it Mr. Zee?" purred my wife, "I might need some help with it," she coquettishly inquired as I seethed with rage.

"It is quite big Carrie, you know that," the dastardly bastard replied. I imagined punching his fat face and bashing his bald head. I needed another drink.

"I'll be happy to take care of it for you Mr. Zee," my faithless wife gushed, "I'll see that it gets out today." The bitch!

"Much appreciated Carrie, toodles," replied the unscrupulous cad as he rung off. This was huge, I had the evidence I needed to really focus my investigation. Carefully clicking the 'save' button I heard the front door open. My wife and daughter were home already!

"Mason, what is that strange car doing in the driveway?" asked Carrie. Damn! After being nearly arrested during my stakeout I'd driven straight home and forgot to switch cars at the YMCA. I had to think fast. Quickly stashing my phone monitoring apparatus I jogged into the living room carefully crafting my answer as I went.

"I had some car trouble on the way in this morning and the repair shop gave me a loaner," I blurted out. Catlike reflexes of the brain managed to save me again.

"Your car is almost new, what is wrong with it?" asked my inquisitive wife. I had to come up with something that sounded plausible but not expensive. Transmission came to mind but that sounded like kind of a big deal so I responded with "The carburetor needed adjusting, nothing to worry about." Elegant in its simplicity.

"Mason, I thought your car was fuel injected?" said Carrie as she plopped Amanda down on my lap. "Can you change her diaper while I start dinner," she asked sweetly while giving me a peck on the cheek. Carrie waltzed into the kitchen while I fumbled around in the diaper bag. I needed to stall Carrie about the carburetor so I went for a quick diversion.

"When are we going to start potty training Amanda?" I asked with as much exasperation I could muster, "I mean she's already a year old."

While Carrie explained the emotional and physiological development needed by an infant prior to potty training I attempted to regroup on my car repair blunder. I made a mental note to Google carburetors and fuel injection later. However, the little peck on the cheek Carrie gave me when she handed me Amanda had planted the seeds of a solution to my DNA dilemma: If I could get Carrie to give me a nice open-mouth kiss, really swap some spit, I could then excuse myself and secretly swab my tongue, thereby collecting her DNA and she never the wiser. Brilliant.

As I changed my beautiful little daughter I mused about the situation. Her small innocent cooing and giggling soothed my frayed nerves. I began to think clearly for the first time in hours. I had a solid lead to follow in Sal Zee after hearing the phone call recording. I began plotting my next step while fastening her diaper when I noticed something odd about her birthmark that I'd never recognized before: It bore a striking resemblance to a person's profile. A man's profile. A bald man's profile. A big bald man's profile.

Acting quickly I spun my startled daughter around 180 degrees and leaned in to carefully study the odd-shaped blemish. It was shaped like the profile of a person, sort of like a silhouette. Unfortunately, the blemish was slowly fading just like her pediatrician had predicted. The evidence was practically vanishing right before my very eyes! I had to act quickly. I needed to find our digital camera and get some close-ups of the incriminating birthmark. With any luck I could be closing accounts and canceling credit cards before the sun set tomorrow. Just then Carrie sidled back into the room.

"Why didn't you take the car to the dealership honey? It is still under warranty and I think that repair shop might be cheating you Mason," persisted my wife. Cheating me, oh the irony. Time for another distraction.

Sweeping her into my arms I kissed her passionately using plenty of tongue. Carrie was so startled that she sort of froze up for a moment allowing me the opportunity to use my patented double-reverse super-suction spit-swap maneuver and suck her tongue into my mouth.

Carrie recovered quickly but not quickly enough; it was mission accomplished. I had some of her spit in my mouth and now just had to get it swabbed and into the test kit. Releasing my bewildered wife I raced for the bathroom, nearly dropping her to the floor in my haste to preserve the evidence.

Slamming the bathroom door I threw open the medicine cabinet before remembering my kit was stashed in the bottom drawer of the vanity. Carrie was making some noises in the other room but I was focused; finish the mission Mason, finish the mission. I pulled open the bottom drawer and sifted through various boxes of tampons and fresheners, potpourri and decorative soaps, where the hell was it?

"Mason, what has gotten into you? What are you doing in there?" pestered my wife through the door. I couldn't answer because if I tried to speak it would require me to first swallow and thus lose the precious evidence I had in my mouth. Then, like a lightning bolt, a staggering thought hit me: what if Carrie had orally serviced Sal Zee's 'package' today at lunch?

Suddenly my own lunch was in danger. In danger of not staying in my stomach.

Calling upon the deepest recesses of my willpower I managed, with cheeks bulging, to find the test kit, open the box, extract the swab and scrape it across my tongue before heaving and spitting into the sink. Carrie was still yapping through the door.

"Are you okay honey? Where did this sudden burst of affection come from?" Carrie murmured from right on the other side of the door. "Are you feeling frisky? We could put Amanda down early for a change, it's been awhile since we've had any mommy and daddy time."

Straightening up the bathroom and opening the door I saw my wife standing provocatively in the doorway. Well there was no way I was going to have any sloppy seconds, did she think I was crazy? Probably wanted me to clean her out after her bull had serviced her but I was wise to her games. I'd have to fake an illness.

"I may be coming down with a cold," I offered while coughing hoarsely, "I don't want you to catch it so I better sleep in the guest room tonight." Ha. Thank god my mind was like a steel trap or I'd been eating creampies while she laughed it up at my expense.

"We don't have a guestroom dear, just come to bed and I'll get you some NyQuil," Carrie soothed as she felt my forehead.

Since when don't we have a guest room? What kind of a house doesn't have a guest room? Where will our guests sleep if we don't have a room specifically assigned for that purpose? As I contemplated the mystery of the missing guest room I returned to the current pressing problem; I needed a photo of little Amanda's birthmark.

"Where is the camera? I want to take a picture of Amanda," I slurred as my wife steered me toward our bedroom.

"Mason, if you are coming down with something I don't want Amanda to catch anything from you," said Carrie as she whisked adorable little Amanda away. Drat! Where was she taking her?

A light began to slowly dawn in my confused mind; our guest room had been converted into a nursery for Amanda over a year ago. That's where Carrie was taking Amanda. How could I forget that? My investigation of Carrie's affair was placing a severe strain on my overworked brain.

Carrie returned and led me to our bed like a lamb to the slaughter. She reclined me onto the bed and began removing my clothes and shoes while I offered ineffectual resistance. After numerous spoonfuls of cold medicine my wife tucked me in and left me slumped in bed and several sheets to the wind.

I awoke with the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. The combination of the stiff drinks I'd consumed before dinner and the overdoses of NyQuil that Carrie ladled down my throat had knocked me completely out. The bright sunlight burning my retinas told me it was well after my usual wake-up time. I squinted toward the clock and felt sick as the digital readout told me I should have been at work an hour ago. Groaning I tried to clamber out of bed but I must have been making quite a ruckus as Carrie came into the bedroom looking distinctly perturbed.

"Mason, I called your office to tell them you were sick and wouldn't be in today and do you know what they told me?" she asked in a frighteningly rhetorical manner.

"They told me that Mason Youn no longer works there."

Oh shit.