After awhile, Stan convinced himself it really had been only a one night stand. Two weeks later, he forgot his wedding anniversary.
It was like standing in the middle of an open field on a clear night, trying to hide from the stars. He must have already known what I had done, just like the stars would have seen me all along as I fruitlessly darted and ducked behind fences and bales of hay – and now all I could really do was to march straight up to him and openly reveal my transgression against his loyal love.
I wouldn’t want to be in Tiger Woods’ shoes today.
He got caught playing eighteen holes with a single ball.
“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Crane,” the bemused Emergency Room physician told the distraught parents, “there must be some mistake … your blood types are incompatible with that of your son.”
Mr. Crane, momentarily forgetting his paternal duty and concern, crossed the room and, almost imperceptibly and for the first time in a decade of marriage, began to raise his right hand toward the blushing left cheek of his wife.