Page 15 of The Husband Diet
And soon we were out in the parking lot, me pulling my coat on over my quasi-naked body as we dashed past startled faces. I must have looked a sight. It was no wonder Ira preferred some skinny bitch in stilettos.
Once at the wheel, I shifted into Drive and burst into tears.
‘Sweetie,’ Paul wheezed as he jumped in and I took off with a screech, burning rubber. ‘We talked about this. You could have just told me you’d changed your mind about the op. No biggie.’
It took me a few minutes to be able to breathe properly, let alone speak. I rounded out of the parking lot and burst into traffic.
‘He’s got someone else, the bastard!’ I sobbed, tears blinding me so I couldn’t see where we were going. ‘It wasn’t about me being big, it was about her being smaller!’
Paul gasped. ‘Shut up! You’re shitting me!’ Then his eyes swung back to the road.
‘I shit you not!’ I cried, swerving just in time to avoid an oncoming car. ‘She told him to hurry because she was pantie-less and horny!’
‘Erica…’
‘This is ridiculous. I almost let them friggin’ dice me like a chicken. And for whom? For a pseudo-husband who’s got a lover in stilettos? God, I’m so pathetic.’
‘Erica…’
‘What the hell’s wrong with me? I could have died on that table, and he knew it! And he sent me all the same!’
‘Erica!’ Paul screamed.
‘What?’ I screamed back.
‘We’re both going to die if you don’t slow down and stay in your lane!’
I turned back to the traffic and suddenly, I didn’t know where I was.
Paul’s hand steadied the wheel as he sighed. ‘Pull over.’
I did as I was told (does that surprise you?) and broke down, my head buried in the wheel, my hair in my face, gagging on my salty tears.
Paul sat silently, caressing my nape, over and over. It felt good.
Finally, when I was all cried out, he sighed. ‘Come on, sunshine. Switch places.’
I stretched my bare leg over the gearshift and hauled my big ass into the passenger seat as Paul got out and went round. Once in the driver’s seat, he pulled me into his arms with a sigh.
‘Who is she?’ he whispered.
‘I don’t know!’ I bawled all over again, tears blinding me. ‘I can’t believe he did this to me.’
‘Forget him for now. Get some clothes on. We’ll go home, have a chamomile and sort this out, OK?’
‘No! I want to drive over to his office or wherever he is and emasculate him with my nail file! Have you seen my boots?’
‘In your overnight bag.’
I threw my upper body into the back seat as I rifled through my things. Socks, bras, panties (no goddamn stilettos), my Kindle, my favorite family picture, which I threw to one side.
‘I don’t need surgery,’ I mumbled into my bag. ‘Or a husband who doesn’t love me anymore. I can do it on my own.’
Which, I suddenly realized, was true. It wasn’t necessary for me to take such drastic measures to lose weight. I’d do it on my own – change my eating habits and exercise. Maybe a bike ride round the park a couple of times a week, giving up dessert. I could do that. A whole new start! I could take chargenow. I knew I could.
‘Good for you!’ Paul chimed, slapping my exposed butt.
I retrieved my boots and stuck a long leg up on the dashboard to put them on, but my feet were swollen.
