Time for a reality check, people. I get about 100 questions a week from you romance-challenged love fools, 100 more than I want to deal with.
Most of the time, my assistant skims through the text, shortens it to one concise question and fires it off to me.
But neither of us could figure out how to shorten this drivel from "Jane" into one paragraph, let alone a single question. So hey, if I have to suffer, you can, too. Call it my version of spreading the love. (I almost gagged there.)
"Jagger, I got so drunk at an office party one night when my husband was out of town that, well, the VP of Sales looked so cute and inviting that we took it to a suite at the hotel. I woke up with a hangover that would have sunk the Titanic next to a man thirty years older than I am, looking in the light of day like an albino prune. I couldn't believe what I did.
Some friends say I should confess to my husband of fifteen years what I did to get it off my chest. They think I should beg for forgiveness. Others say I have no right to tell him, since I love him and won't ever do anything like this again, and that telling him will result in a loss of fifteen years of trust.
Really? For one lousy night?
Help me, Jagger. What should I do?"
Really? Were you still drinking when you wrote this, "Jane"?
Whether you tell your husband or not, he's going to find out. You told your friends, and sugar, trust me, your name is already doing laps on the rumor mill. No matter how close you think you are, girls gossip. Yes, even friends.
But let's pretend you've got the kind of besties who will keep your secret close to their chests. Of course you should tell your husband - and then get on your knees.
To beg for forgiveness.
Because darling, you broke that 15 years of trust the minute you and Mr. Cute VP of Sales hooked up. (By the way, you don't actually think your co-workers missed you two sneaking off together, do you? If they're not snickering to your face, they're doing it behind your back.)
Bloody hell, and they blame me for today's high divorce rates.
Fess up, Jane, and take the consequences like a woman.
I know, love bites.
Oh yeah - I almost forgot. My assistant is taking over my blog this Friday to take part in some sad song blogfest. Knowing Heidi, there will be a lot of songs about love and losing love and blah blah blah. If you have an overwhelming desire to cry in your beer, you might want to check it out, March 30.