I thought this might be a fitting Easter story.
*****
I won't say that there was trouble in paradise; that's taking it too far. However, there was something amiss between my wife and I. Could it be the seven-year itch?
I do as best as I can. I send flowers on Valentine's Day. I give her a thoughtful present on her birthday. I have not forgotten an anniversary yet! I tell her every day that I love her. Still, I have a distinct feeling not all is well between us.
I have talked to her about it, but she seems to be ignoring any signals of us drifting apart. She claims all is well. She is happy, so I had better be too.
One day, I told her that I would like to have children and complete our family. I thought, maybe everything will fall into place and we will be happy. I really wanted this.
"Of course we will have children, at least two, but not yet," she said.
No, we did not argue, we didn't even have a serious discussion about it; she just shut it down with a charming smile and a kiss.
She is a good cook, and she usually does the cooking. I can handle a frying pan fairly well myself. One Saturday I tried my best to get in good graces with her and told her I would make a good evening meal for us. She was very pleased, of course, and I can truly say it was a very pleasant evening. I bought a bouquet of red tulips for the table, found a superb bottle of Bordeaux, and served a juicy tender entrecote (done rare, as she preferred), along with baked potatoes doused in garlic butter.
Later, we retired to the bedroom and made love for hours. Figuratively, of course, try as I might I could not get it up more than twice. Nevertheless, it was truly a perfect evening and I thought we were back on track.
A few days later, the memory of the glorious Saturday seemed to crumble away and we were back to square one.
Then one day my wife told me she had agreed to join her friend Kelly for a week to Aruba. According to her, Kelly, who is a farmer's wife outside town, needed to get away for a few days and she wanted someone to accompany her.
Kelly was a decent person. I liked her well enough, but her husband was a pain in the ass, so we never socialized. I did not object to her proposal and offered to drive her to the airport. She told me not to bother. It was a night flight; she would take her car and pick up Kelly on the way. They would leave next Saturday in the late evening, spend a week, and return early that Sunday morning.
She phoned briefly Sunday afternoon, letting me know that she and Kelly had settled nicely into the hotel.
On Monday and Tuesday evening, she talked all about how she and Kelly spent the entire time soaking up the sun. On Wednesday afternoon, Kelly's husband called and asked for my wife. Confused, I told him she was on holiday this week.
"Since your wife was Kelly's best friend," he said, "I thought it would be best that I called to give her the news, before she read about it in the paper."
