Let's Not Split Hairs

Let's Not Split Hairs!

I looked in the mirror of our plush double sink ensuite. What I saw, I was fairly happy with. Married for twenty years to a beautiful woman whom I absolutely adored, one magnificent daughter of whom I was extremely proud, an income which ensured financial security until retirement and beyond, and a body, mine, which was in great working order, for forty-three year old!

I was in a comfortable zone of existence, the likes of which I knew many men dreamed about.

Yep! I was one of the lucky ones! Well, as long as you count the horrendous hours spent at work to secure our income. And, let's not forget the long arduous, but ultimately fulfilling, time spent wooing the woman of my dreams! And, the nightmarish nights of baby watch as our daughter went from a very sick one year old to a precocious teenager, to a settled woman at college studying to be a doctor.

Yep. Luck played a part, but the major input to our success was simply hard work and commitment.

Rachel, my wife, never worked since our daughter Megan was born. That was simply bad luck as Megan was a sickly child, demanding almost full time attention from both Rachel and myself. Rachel was a qualified architect, but never actually realised the dream of working in that field, because of her commitment to rearing our daughter. I often felt sad for her in this regard. I met her when we were both in our second years of our respective courses. As we were studying, her in the Design and Architecture Faculty, and me in Engineering, she talked always of designing the 'perfect' buildings. It was a passion with her, hence my sadness for her. She, however never even hinted that she felt that loss. Being the determined person that she was, she just buckled down and did what needed to be done.

My name is Tom. Tom Wildthorpe and I earn my income by troubleshooting engineering problems in power plants around the country. This does involve a fair bit of unexpected travel and has done for nearly all of our married life. I could have opted for the stay in office positions, but Rachel and I discussed the fact that the extra income would make our financial life much easier.

Fortunately, Rachel adjusted to this expectation early on in our married life and never once bitched about my absences, although I always felt as guilty as hell, taking off at a moment's notice. I was rarely gone for more than two nights, so I made sure that she understood my undying love for her and my deep gratitude for her willingness to step up while I was away. My golden rule was always that if I was away for one night, I would organise a one-night 'date night' to make up. The formula was the same for two nights, or three nights. Two nights away meant two date nights, etc. Luckily, my parents and hers were within twenty minutes drive from our house, so baby-sitting was no problem.

I returned to the image in the mirror. I was a very satisfied man.

I shaved, as I always do when I get home. Of course, I have a travel shave kit in my 'go bag', but it never quite gets the closeness and smoothness as a good shave gets. Rachel loves it when I shave. She knows that I do it just for her. Nothing annoys her more than when I go down on her with bristles on my chin. A smoother shave guarantees at least three orgasms for her before we actually get down to it. No annoying prickly chin in her groin area!

My entrance into the kitchen was greeted by a huge hug and kiss. They both oozed the promise of a busy night ahead.

"You owe me a night out buster," Rachel cooed, as she lovingly ran her finger tips over my cleanly shaven chin. "Can I pick the place this time?"

"Anything for you babe," I replied as I returned her hug and smiled. Our eyes met and I knew how much I loved this woman. I would kill for her. Hell, I would die for her. Our lifestyle sometimes sucked, but we seemed to come out on top every time.

As expected, we connected during our 'date night' and satisfied our sexual urges later that night. Since our daughter had left home, we revelled in the freedom to be uninhibited in our love-making. We made love anywhere in the house. We made as much noise as we wanted. It was a freedom which we loved, especially after our challenging early child rearing years. Not that they weren't rewarding. We wouldn't trade our time with our daughter for anything. BUT, it was a fair restraint on our love life.

We both loved our daughter, Megan. She was the completion of our marriage. There is no feeling like seeing this small defenceless human being who is completely reliant on the love and care of their parents grow and develop. I did worry a lot about her as she was going through her hormonal early teens, but Rachel seemed to have an understanding with her. I am sometimes jealous of the almost secret bond between a mother and daughter, but Megan always made it known that I was her 'special dad'. Rachel looked sideways at her when Megan said that and at those times I could read the silent body language between them. Megan would always hug me then and say, "I love you dad," something that always melted my heart. The moment, as always happened, faded to another topic, but the warm memory was banked into my sub consciousness.

Life went on, as it does.

It was not much longer than three weeks later that I was again called out to a two day stint in the north. I hated these. It was normally freezing cold and took forever to fly in and out. There were often long, boring waits in freezing cold airports waiting for connecting flights to get back home. After performing my duties, solving the engineering challenges and writing copious reports, I was pissed. The endless wait in a cold staging area just added to my angst.

Arriving home, cold, pissed and tired, I did my usual. I kissed and hugged my wife and immediately went to my ensuite and showered. Believe me, a long hot shower does wonders for mood adjustment. Feeling somewhat normal again, I stared at the mirror to begin my close shave routine.

That's when I saw it.

What?

What could I possibly see in my ensuite that would shatter my perfect existence?

A small hair!

A small black hair which was lodged between the sink tap on my side of the ensuite sinks and the white splash back tiles. I notice things. That's how I get my job done so well. Over the years I have developed a habit and quite a knack, of noticing small details. The ones normally overlooked are the ones that cause the trouble. I'm not OCD about this habit, but I know it helps in my line of work.

I don't have black hairs. Not even pubic hairs. That is a legacy of my Dutch heritage. All, and I mean all of my hair was a very light brown in colour.

Could it be Rachel's? Nope! She is of Danish origin and ALL of her hair is that beautiful golden blonde. ALL OF IT! Got it?

Could it be Megan's? Had she come home while I was away? Anyway, why would she use our ensuite? She always used the main bathroom downstairs. Megan started off life with pitch black hair, but before she was one year old, her hair resembled Rachel's. There was a 'goth' stage that she went through as an early teenager! UGH, don't I remember those years. It was a trying time for myself and Rachel. Megan often treated me with disdain and Rachel with downright rudeness. All my friends just told me to wait out the 'crazy years' and hope she becomes human again in the near future. She did, luckily. She switched almost overnight to a once again decent human being, one where she treated me with extra respect and obvious love. Her relationship with Rachel still seemed standoffish, however. During the goth times, as Rachel and I called them, Megan had pitch black hair along with all of the other cliche goth accessories. Even now she has kept her hair black. It could be her hair in my sink area, but it was extremely unlikely.

Back to the problem at hand.

My mind went into overdrive, something it was used to doing. I did it everyday. It was my job to get to the nitty-gritty of a problem and find solutions. Fast!

Perhaps it was because of my shitty experience at this last gig which pushed my mood to a negative paradigm. I looked at a fairly normal small detail and immediately imagined the worst. It was only a small discrepancy in my normal existence. "Get a grip!" My rational mind screamed at me. It is not a major problem.

But, this was very different. This problem was with our marriage, probably. It did seem like a quantum leap to go from one stray hair to marriage destruction, but unless and until another explanation could be found, there it was.

How did the hair get there? It had obviously been cut, because it was of uniform thickness for all of its length. It didn't taper off to a thin point. Could it have been shaved? Maybe cut with scissors?

I checked my side of the vanity cupboards. Sure enough, there was all my shaving kit. Blades, cream, scissors, etc were all there. Now I had to wonder if someone else was using them while I was away. This needed investigation.

I carefully arranged my kit so that I could easily work out if it had been used. Rachel would NEVER use my kit as she prefers those lady shavers which are supposed to be smoother and of course, much more colourful!

Part of me wanted to laugh it all off and forget about it. Another, steadily growing part, wanted to get to the bottom of this anomaly before it ate completely into our happy existence. "I have to be wrong!" I continually told myself.

The next couple of weeks were a surreal existence for me. I was always questioning everything I saw and heard and felt. Paranoia reigned supreme. I found that I was checking my shave kit every

day and searching for any more hairs every chance I got. My kit always went back exactly the same way after I used it.

Every small disagreement was micro analysed for any hints. Even when we made love, I was on the lookout for unusual, or faked responses. If Rachel went out, I analysed where she went, for how long and if it was possible that she was doing something else instead.

It was certainly not a happy time for me. I thought that I hid it well, being used to being a poker-faced operator in my line or work. I knew I could pull it off at work easily, but having to do it continually at home as well caused my stress levels to shoot through the roof. Something had to give.

To add to my woes, I had a short, one-night call-out midweek the next week. As usual, the return routine was followed except for one detail. I checked for hairs first, then checked my shave kit. "What the fuck!" I whispered unbelievably. There were no hairs, but my kit had obviously been used. It was not in the exact place that I had left it. Someone had used it while I was away. Now I was really pissed. What the hell was going on here? My mind couldn't get around the implications of this revelation. I was hoping beyond hope that what the evidence pointed to wasn't right. Again, as usual, I shaved, showered and went downstairs. One great thing about routines is that they can be performed without complete conscious thought. I floated, as if in a dream. My hearing was tunnel hearing. My ears heard, but I wasn't listening to anything. Nothing actually registered.

Rachel noticed my short mood and commented on it.

"Babe, you've been working too hard. I've never seen you so stressed. Is there anything I can do?" And there was that mischievous look which never failed to let me know exactly what she was thinking. Usually a session of love-making!

Now normally that sort of invitation didn't go unanswered with that certain glint in the eye and a loving touch, but this time I just blurted out that I needed some time off. The job was getting to me. Rachel said she understood and even suggested that I take a couple of days to relax by myself. She even had a place in mind! It was a small BnB about three hours drive away, by a beach. We had often talked about going there together for a weekend, but never seemed to get the time.

"It will do you the world of good," she said. "I love you so much and want you to go and re-charge."

My mind immediately saw the suggestion for what my paranoia-fueled psyche viewed it as. It was a chance for her to do what she was doing while I was away at other times.

I seemingly reluctantly agreed that I would as soon as I could arrange it with work.

Well that happened two weeks later. My work team was way ahead on its projects and were all given three days as TOIL (time off in lieu). I packed my car, some clothes and a collection of books and headed off. Rachel tried to kill me with kindness just before I left, but was quite restrained in the sex department. Again my paranoia went into overdrive.

As I drove out of our street, she waved from our front garden and I thought about turning around and confessing what I suspected, so that she could explain what I had seen and put my fears to rest once and for all. But, I had to know! It was part of my DNA. My Dutch heritage again came to the fore. My father always called me 'kasskop' a Dutch slang word for stubborn. Literally, it translated to 'cheese head'. You may have seen the large round, red cheese balls paraded for tourists at the Alkmaar cheese markets. If you have, then you know them as tough, resilient lumps of wax covered cheese which can take quite a few hard knocks!

I needed to have the facts before I took this any further. If I was mistaken, life would go on and I would have to clear my mind of all of the negative and worst-case scenarios that had crowded it of late. My trust for Rachel had been depleted to such an extent that I could not go on at that rate. If, however, I was correct, then it would be hell to pay. Infidelity was one evil that both Rachel and I had discussed very early on in our relationship. We both agreed that it was a 'one and done' deal. I took that commitment quite seriously, but I was beginning to hope that Rachel did as well.

My drive away was to be a short one. I had arranged to leave my car at a mechanic's shop not more than four kilometres away, ostensibly to get a thorough service and check up. I explained to Mr Whyles, the mechanic, that he could have the car for three days, so to do a thorough job. He was not to contact me about any possible faults, as I would give him carte blanche to do what was needed and that I would pick it up and settle the bill at the end of the three days. I could see his money brain ticking behind his eyes! This was a cash cow job. He didn't get too many of these. Usually it was a long queue of irate clients arguing about every expense detail on the bill! He would find every fault, no matter how small and charge me accordingly. The dollar signs beckoned him.

From there it was only a short walk to the car rental agency where I rented a small, white sedan. It was the most nondescript vehicle available. These cars were practically invisible in the flood of other equally unexciting white vehicles on the road. It was this car that I drove back to our neighbourhood. I had spent quite a while working out where I could set up surveillance of my house. We do have quite a few retired couples living in our street. As pleasant as these people are, they often have heaps of time to kill, so spend a lot of it being what can only be described as 'busybodies'. Nothing gets past their inquisitive eyes! These people had to be avoided at all costs.

Luckily, there was a small alcove of trees and bush which hid the vacant block behind it from most people's view. That is where I chose to go. I made a point of not hanging out there full time, however. I only stayed there in short bursts. To simply stay there all the time would have appeared creepy and surely aroused suspicion. As it was, I didn't really feel comfortable acting like a neighbourhood peeping Tom!

My time on watch was not wasted. It was not more than two hours after I started my watch, that I saw Rachel's car leave. I immediately phoned her. I could see that she glanced down at the phone and pulled over. The engine was switched off before she picked up the phone and answered.

"Hi Rach. Just thought I would phone my favourite wife. How is everything going? Missing me yet?"

"Hi babe. I was just thinking about you. What's this about 'favourite wife'? Do you have another, not so favourite one? Hey, have you arrived yet? Of course you have. Are you settled in? Please use this time to really unwind love, so that whatever it was that was driving you around the bend sorts itself out."

She really was acting like my loving wife, concerned for my welfare and feelings. I must admit that at that moment, I felt like a real idiot. How could I be doing what I was and thinking those thoughts about my wife, my life-long partner?

"Thanks for that Rachel. I really appreciate this time. What are you up to at the moment?"

"Oh not much really. I'm just sitting around reading while the washing is on. You know, usual boring stuff. I think I will be stuck here at home all day just catching up. I have to go Hon. the washing is nearly through its cycle. I will call you tonight. Bye babe. Love you heaps."

"Umm, ok. Bye Rach. Talk to you tonight."

Why did she lie? If she was going somewhere in the car, she could have said it honestly. It was no skin off my nose if she said she was going on some errand or other! This started to stink.

I discreetly followed her. She went to the local shopping centre, but didn't get out. It looked as if she was waiting for someone. I did notice her on the phone as soon as she parked. Now why would she do that? My mind again turned in ever decreasing circles, focussing on the distinct possibility that all was not as it seemed in the Wildthorpe marriage. I didn't want to believe it. Even as the evidence was mounting up, I was looking for a million reasons why it would not be so.

It was indeed so!

Not more than two minutes after parking, a man entered Rachel's car. If it wasn't for the immediate passionate kiss which followed, I would still have believed that this rendezvous was innocent. It wasn't innocent. This intimate act was familiar to both of them. It wasn't a one-off tentative, shy coupling. It was an act performed with the practice and grace of two lovers absolutely at ease with their closeness.

That's when I vomited.

I couldn't help it. There were no usual warning signs. No cramping stomach. No clamminess on my skin. No increased heart rate. Just straight out. Even in my distress, I had the thought of now I had to explain the mess and smell to the car hire. With swimming eyes and feeling faint, I noticed that Rachel and her paramour had driven off. I could only guess where to. I couldn't follow them in my state.

To my great embarrassment, some other shoppers had seen my sickness and offered help. Stumbling out of the car, I tried to explain that I was ok, but you know some people are just too kind-hearted. I had to relent and accept their assistance. Wet towels and baby wipes appeared from nowhere. I was rubbed, wiped and cleaned by a myriad of hands. It amazed me that the kindness of some people soon had me cleaned up and my car was even in some semblance of cleanliness as well. The lingering smell on me and in the car would take time to disappear however.

I thought about heading straight to the hotel room which I had organised, but I just had to know. I didn't know exactly where they were going, but judging by the evidence in my ensuite, I could have a good guess. The drive back to our neighbourhood seemed to take forever. With the windows all open for obvious reasons, I was very worried that someone would recognise me as I parked in the bushy alcove, but no one seemed to be out and about.

My eyes grew dry, even with the tears that had been shed. My mouth was parched and still tasted of the acrid aftermath of my episode, but I stayed where I was. Just to be one hundred percent sure.