6's & 7'S
and all things crazy
Calling me at 7 at night is rarely a good idea. I work long hours, I deal with a lot of bull, and by 7, I'm in no mood to be harassed. Especially by a jealous wife. But, there she was, and I was in no mood to be a player in her baby daddy drama.
Ring. Ring. I look at the number and don't recognize it. I do, however, recognize the area code, because I have friends in Vermont and that's their area code. Okay. "Hello?"
"Who is this?" Not, hello, I'm inquiring, or hello, you don't know me but... Just who is this.
I laugh. "Well, who did you call?"
She cleared her throat and tried to sound not psycho. "This number was listed on my husband's cell phone bill and I didn't recognize it..."
Oh, Oh, Oh. A woman going over her husband's cell phone calls wondering if there is anything funny going on. I had to smile. It must be my birthday.
"Well," I said in the smokiest voice I could muster, "I get at least forty calls a day because of my work. You'll have to be a little more specific than that." This is not a lie, just an omission of a crucial detail.
"Your job? Which is?" True, the best thing to do at this point was to hang up. But she was making it so easy...
"I make visits." Again, this is not a lie. I just neglected to mention that I am a home nurse and my daily 'visits' are usually to elderly people requiring wound care or insulin injections.
"What? What kind of visits?" She was trying to remain calm, but I could hear the veins in her temples pulsing against the phone.
"It really depends on what they need. What did you say your husband's name is?"
"John Smith (not his real name. You've got enough problems without me plastering your name all over the internet, 'John')."
"Tall guy? Red hair? Thickkk....neck?"
"No! He has dark hair and he doesn't have a thick anything! Are you a prostitute?" I could tell she was starting to lose it. And now she had asked me directly what my 'business' was. I couldn't lie.
"The nature of business is confidential. It's between me and my clients." Not a lie.
"Oh my God! I thought he was cheating on me, but a prostitute! I can't f*@$ing believe this!" I didn't know how much longer I could hold out, so time to stop before she hangs up and starts chopping John into tiny pieces.
"I'm not a prostitute."
"You said you were!"
"No, you said I am. I'm a nurse. In Las Vegas. And I'm pretty sure you are in Vermont."
"Huh? Las Vegas? What the hell?"
"Our area codes are one digit off. I think you misdialed."
Click. That was it. I wanted to call her back and tell her what a crazy psycho she was. I mean, come on, who does that? You think your husband is cheating, so you call some number and expect someone to say, "Oh, yeah, John, I'm doing him every Tuesday night. You're his wife? Oh, you want to watch?" No, any mistress worth her lingerie is going to lie to you anyway, and then alert John to the fact that you are on to him.
So out of curiosity, when I got home, I pulled up my husband's cell phone bill from last month. I didn't recognize half the numbers.
"Hmm. Not bad, Hero."
Then I did what any self respecting woman would do in that situation. I went through his billfold while he was sleeping and hired an investigator to follow him.
The difference between psycho wife and non-psycho wife?
How you collect the evidence.
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