L’Affaire de la Tête

Infidelity, thy name is Crunchable.

This is the third of four Snackable essays coinciding with Crunchable’s fifth anniversary.

My husband is having an affair.

Late at night, when his body should be warmly molded against mine in the bed, I wake up and find the sheets on his side vacant and cool.

And I know he’s with her.

She’s intrigued him for years, her name slipping into conversation even before she became his. Sleek and modern, she updates her appearance regularly to keep him interested. She is full of secrets and often speaks in code that he has to decipher — a challenge that to a normal man might seem daunting, but only fuels my husband’s adoration.

I can discuss this calmly, even rationally, because this affair with his Web site has never been secret. Long before he started his liaison, he would drop hints about wanting … well, a little more out of life. Now that they’re together, he can’t stop talking about her — enthusing over the virtues of a certain font, or the benefits of this really cool xhtml validator he found online. His eyes light up, and his face glows with love.

So even on those cold and lonely nights, I don’t really wish that he’d leave her. I know she completes him.

But do I occasionally wish she would die a horrible death involving intestinal worms? Maybe I do.

Article © 2006 by Stacey Duck