What a night. Not that I could remember much about it, mind you. But I went home in the early hours of the morning. I wouldn't have done that had it been a lousy night, would I? In any case, I'd been with her again.
No, not the wife. What's wrong with you?
A couple of hours after getting into my matrimonial bed I was violently shaken awake by an angry wife. Apparently, her gentler attempts to wake me up had come to nought. But the localised earthquake did the trick. When the cobwebs had cleared from my head somewhat, it was explained to me that we had to get going.
Man, I hate the morning after, especially when you've to do a 300 km trip to attend some stupid wedding. But for the sake of peace in the house, I rushed to freshen up. Passport size, of course. Didn’t have time for a shower. How could I have found the time with an angry wife glowering at me?
In my condition, there was no way I was going to drive. So the wife drove while I flopped onto the back seat and slept. Midway through the trip I woke up and immediately had a shocker that threw me into a panic. What were her slip-ons doing in the footwell!
Not the wife's. You!
All the after-effects of the night before disappeared, hangover and all. This was a crisis. I looked at the wife and was happy to notice that she was concentrating on the road. So I took one offending shoe, then the other, stole a surreptitious glance at her again just to make sure she wasn’t looking at me, rolled down the window and threw them out.
Just in time as it happened because shortly afterward she turned and looked at me. "You're back to life, eh? Man you can snore."
We talked about this and that. It was nice chatting and laughing with her. You see, it assured me that she was none the wiser about the other woman's shoes.
A few kilometers further along she had us stop at a service station. She wanted to go and buy some sodas.
"Darling, can you please pass me the shoes," she said innocently.
What! You mean those shoes were the wife's and not hers? Damn!
I pretended to look. I had to. "My dear, there are no shoes here."
"But I put them there. I took them off immediately I sat down. You know I feel uncomfortable driving with them on."
"Well, they aren't here. Don’t worry, I’ll go and buy the sodas."
"But my shoes ..."
"My dear, you can check for yourself," I interrupted her and hopped out of the car.