Shithead and Sarah have been like famiIy to my wife and I for several years, practically ever since we moved in across the street from them. The four of us were extremely tight. Our kids are the same age as theirs and are all good friends. We were one big family unit. We did dinner together a few times a week. We went on vacations together.
I truly saw Shithead as a brother, and my wife and Sarah were very close too.
Five months ago, I was completely blindsided by the discovery of an affair between my wife and Shithead. My wife had left her emaiI open on our computer, and I saw an email from her to her longtime therapist saying that Shithead would be joining her at an upcoming session “again.”
Uh, WTF? My mind started racing – why in the world would Shithead be going to her therapy sessions without my knowledge? I did a search and found some other emails to and from the therapist proving that Shithead had been going to sessions together with her for about six weeks.
I checked our mobile phone account and discovered that, since late summer, they had been exchanging hundreds of texts every day, peaking at nearIy 500/day by the holidays. Speaking of the holidays, my wife and I hosted both of our families (parents, siblings, etc) for both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, and Shithead and Sarah joined us either for dinner or after dinner on both holidays.
Text records showed that the entire time that they were at our house celebrating with our families, my wife and Shithead were texting each other across the room. They were doing that pretty much every time the four of us hung out, for months. And, you know, all day every day just in generaI. But what bothers me the most is that they were doing it with Sarah and I right there.
I confronted my wife with the evidence and she admitted that yes, she and Shithead had fallen in love. “It just happened! I don’t know how! But I love him and I just don’t feeI anything for you anymore, I’m sorry!” They had gone on a school district trip together, something had happened in her hotel room, and things had moved quickly from there. She explained, as I lay face-down on the couch, unable to look at her, that they had already made plans to move out and divorce me and Sarah, and while they didn’t plan to move in together immediately because of the kids, they’d probably do so eventually.
The meetings with the therapist were supposedly mostly for the purpose of finding a way to break this to me and Sarah as gently as possible, because they were so very concerned for our well-being. (Sarah and I are fairly certain that they weren’t pIanning on telling us about the affair at all, and were simply going to “discover” their feelings for one another several months down the line, after they’d come up with some other reason to divorce the two of us.)
My wife moved out two months ago. I was, and still am, utterly destroyed. I cry every day. I cried writing the first few paragraphs of this story just now. I worry non-stop about the impact on our kids. But I am also not exactly a shrinking vioIet when I feel that I’ve been wronged. And in this case I was, objectively, very very wronged.
So, a couple of years ago, Shithead ran for a Board of Education seat as a pretty extreme underdog. I helped him with his campaign materials and debate prep, and my wife, a well-known school district employee (this becomes important later), got the word out as best she couId. Much to our surprise, he actually won in a squeaker, by just a few dozen votes.
Being on the Board became the center of Shithead’s world. He joined every committee that he could. This turned into the foundation of his affair with my wife, as they were constantly going to school events and meetings together on evenings and weekends.
Once I discovered the affair, my thoughts turned pretty quickly to revenge, and it occurred to me that an extramarital affair between a member of the Board of Education and an employee of the school district was at least bad poIitics and possibly vioIated district policy. Making things far worse for them was that my wife was in the running for an open administrative position, and everyone knew that she was more or less guaranteed the job and the major pay raise that came with it. She had just finished her master’s degree in school administration, at the urging of her principal and the superintendent, so that she could be promoted to this specific position.
I had plenty of evidence of the affair – texts from both of them admitting to it, text records showing that they were texting hundreds of times a day, emails to and from the therapist, etc. I considered simply emailing all of the evidence to the Board and the superintendent, but felt like I, as the grieving, betrayed spouse, might not be seen as a credible source.
So instead, I invented a fictitious “furious friend” who was planning on showing up to the next Board meeting and publicly shaming the two of them for their affair. I told my wife that I’d tried to taIk this person down but couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t show up and humiliate them publicly. As I expected, this led Shithead to conclude that the only option was for him to preemptively admit the affair to the Board. The superintendent subsequently recommended that Shithead resign, which he did. Sarah said that he was utterly humiliated and crushed, and barely got out of bed for a few days afterward.
Once word of the affair and Shithead’s resignation started getting around, the superintendent (a longtime friend of both my wife and Shithead) contacted my wife and tearfully informed her that it was no Ionger politically appropriate for her to be promoted to an administrative position within the district.
The position that had been lined up for her was later filled by an outside candidate. This sent waves of confusion and rumor throughout the district, as it was pretty well-known that my wife was getting the job. The day after she was informed that she wasn’t getting the promotion, my wife and I, despite our crumbling marriage, took our son out to breakfast together on his birthday, and a parent stopped by our table to congratulate her on her new roIe. She said thanks, then excused herself to go cry in the bathroom for a while.
I let the dust settle for a couple of weeks, and then, right before my wife moved out, let them in on my little secret – there was never a “furious friend” threatening to expose them in the first place. Just me.
Word of all of this has gotten around our fairly small town, which Shithead grew up in and my wife has worked in for nearly 20 years. My wife refuses to taIk to me about how things are at work now, but I’ve heard from some people I know in the district that her formerly spotless reputation has taken a major hit.
Shithead, formerly a gregarious social presence in our neighborhood and at events and pubs in town, has completely gone underground and barely emerges to mow his lawn. He’s moving out soon, to a shitty little townhouse which is all he can afford due to all the child support he’s going to have to pay his wife.
My wife and Shithead claim that they plan on trying to make things work together, despite all the public humiliation. I wish them lots of Iuck with that. I’m sure it will be a lot of fun to show their faces together in town.
Arrogant Homeowners Wouldn’t Pay My Plumber Father, They Thought They Outsmarted Him, but He Got the Final Chuckle
An entitled couple learned a hard lesson when they tried to cheat my dad, a hardworking plumber, out of his payment. Here’s how he turned the tables on them. I’m Phoebe, but you can call me Pippi, just like my dad does. My dad, Pete, is a 55-year-old plumber with a rugged look and hands that show years of hard work.
He treats every job like it’s his own home, and his dedication often gets him taken for granted. A few months ago, I visited my dad at his place, where I found him on the patio, enjoying a cigar and laughing heartily. I asked what was so funny, and he began to tell me about the Carlyles, a couple who wanted an extravagant bathroom remodel.
They picked every detail, from the tiles to the toilet paper holder, and at first, it seemed like a dream job. But on the last day, just as my dad finished the grouting, the Carlyles sat on their couch, ready to pull a fast one. Mrs. Carlyle claimed the tiles were wrong, despite having chosen them herself. To my dad’s shock, they only wanted to pay him half of what they owed.
Frustrated but clever, my dad decided to teach them a lesson. Instead of using water in the grout, he mixed it with sugar and honey, packed up his tools, and left with half the payment. He knew the couple wouldn’t notice anything wrong immediately; the grout looked fine when it dried.
Weeks later, Mrs. Carlyle took a shower and found ants crawling along the grout lines. The next day brought cockroaches, and soon enough, all sorts of bugs showed up. My dad had a friend, Johnny, who lived next door and kept him updated on the couple’s pest problems.
The Carlyles tried everything to get rid of the bugs, spending a fortune on pest control, but nothing worked. They even blamed the pest sprays for ruining the grout, not realizing that the sugar residue was the source of their problems.
My dad told me the couple ended up redoing their entire bathroom a year later, but the sugar was still lurking underneath, keeping the bugs coming back. They were clueless, still planning to remodel again.
I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for them. My dad explained that their actions insulted his work and pride. He needed to protect his reputation in the plumbing business, and if he let them cheat him, others might try to do the same.
The stories continued. Johnny shared how Mrs. Carlyle had a fancy dinner party and screamed when she found a cockroach in the bathroom. Mr. Carlyle attempted to fix the problem himself, only to create a chemical factory smell without solving anything.
Over a year later, the couple was at their wits’ end and even considered selling their house. My dad chuckled, noting that perhaps his revenge lasted longer than intended, but he felt it was a deserved lesson.
As we sat watching the sunset, I couldn’t help but appreciate the cleverness of my dad’s actions. He taught them a lesson they wouldn’t forget, and I laughed at the thought of the Carlyles’ continued struggles. I promised him that if I ever needed plumbing work done, I would pay him in full upfront. It was a fitting reminder that sometimes, karma comes with unexpected consequences.
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