The Treasure Chest of Betrayal

Whenever I'm feeling lonesome for Dear Husband, I take a peek into the Treasure Chest of Betrayal.

OK, it's not really a treasure chest - it's a file that contains everything I found on our computer the day I booted DH out of the house.

First, there's his noxious dating website profile - the one that describes him as a single man looking for single women who don't play games. The one where he boasts about his culinary skills. The one where he promises to cook breakfast in bed for any non-game-playing single woman who is gullible enough to take the bait.

(Yes, I realize I once fit that description, but I was younger and more trusting then.)

Then there's the profile of DH's gay alter-ego. This one contains fewer details - just his height (considerable), his age (40 going on five), and his astrological sign (do men who want to hook up for anonymous sex really care what the stars say about it?)

Then there's an email to someone he contacted through the dating site. He didn't waste time on any of the niceties - it says 'I want to git wit you.' (for the record, DH neither talks nor writes like a caveman, but that's how I prefer to think of him from now on)

Then there's an email to a woman who advertised on craigslist looking for a bartending job. Why, you ask, does DH need a bartender when he has no bar? Answer: DH believes it's better to have a bartender and not need one than to need one and not have one.

And the list goes on. By the time I finish rummaging through the Treasure Chest of Betrayal, any affection I may have been feeling for DH flies right out the window.

Interestingly, straight single DH's profile disappeared from the internet moments after he was confronted, but gay DH is still trolling the web looking for random hookups. I hope those men carry condoms.