Page 16 of The Husband Diet
‘Stuck,’ I huffed after a few minutes of pulling and wheezing.
‘Here,’ Paul said, leaning over me. ‘Damn, you’re right. Hang on a minute.’
And with that, he climbed into the seat behind me and reached around me (he had long arms) so he could pull them on from behind.
‘Right this moment, my husband’s bonking a bitch in stilettos and I can’t even get my own boots on my fat feet,’ I bawled uncontrollably as I upturned my bag, looking for a tissue. ‘I’m a fucking disaster! A joke. No wonder he cheated on me.’
‘Sweetie, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not a joke. You’re a wonderful, well-respected woman. A pillar of the community, you know that.’
Suddenly, sirens blazed out of nowhere and a female cop on a motorcycle pulled up alongside us, peering into our car, wide-eyed.
‘What’s going on here?’ she demanded, and we froze.
We must have looked a sight. I was naked with a coat over me and one leg stuck in the air as Paul grunted and heaved to pull my boot on, my lap covered in dubious-looking cosmetics, creams and magazines. Enough to put you away for good in puritanical Boston.
I looked up at the policewoman and, not finding any words, began to bawl all over again.
‘Please, officer,’ I heard Paul shout over my howls. ‘Don’t mind her. Her husband badgered her into going for a stomach bypass while he was screwing someone else.’ He looked at the hefty officer and craftily added, ‘A skinny bitch.’
The policewoman raised her eyebrows in disgust. ‘You’re kidding me?’
‘I hate men,’ I cried.
‘Sunshine, you have to leave him,’ Paul urged. ‘Now is your chance.’
The officer peered closer into the car. ‘Lemme get this straight. Your husband cheated on you?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I sniffed, wiping my eyes and taking deep breaths to calm down.
‘After he told her to get a stomach bypass orelse,’ Paul confirmed.
‘Divorce him,’ sentenced the policewoman.
‘I know, right?’ Paul exclaimed. ‘I’ve been telling her for years.’
‘He should pay you alimony,’ the policewoman opined. ‘Have you got any evidence? In court you need proof.’
‘Proof?’ I shrieked, waving the cellphone under her nose. ‘What more proof do you want?’
The policewoman’s lips moved as she read the text message and then glared at me. ‘You should have pulled a Bobbitt.’
‘Bobbitt was neutered because he wanted too much,’ I corrected her. ‘My husband doesn’t want… oh, forget it. Take us in, officer, and let’s end this shitty day in grand style.’
The woman’s big brown eyes softened. ‘Tell you what. You put some clothes back on, ma’am, and I’ll pretend I never saw you. OK?’
I wiped my eyes and nodded. ‘OK. I’m sorry for the hassle, officer.’
‘And besides – you’re beautiful just the way you are. Happy Bobbitt Day.’
The plump woman smiled. A beautiful smile. Maybe one day, if I ever decided to play for the other team, I could always look her up.
After she waved us off like dear old friends, my cellphone rang.
‘Erica, this is Doctor Bowers. What happened?’ asked my bypass doctor.
‘I’m sorry, I… I panicked.’
A bored sigh. Lots of people jumped ship before the fat feast. We’d talked about it and I’d assured him it wouldn’t happen to me. But that was before I knew I had a cheating, no-good slimeball of a husband.
