After Jeff left his wife Jill to be with my friend Sally, all three continued to live in the same small town. Inevitably, their paths would cross. Whenever she encountered Sally, at the market or on the sidewalk, Jill would say something hostile and accusing, which, of course, she had every right to do.
“Hey, homewrecker!” she'd call out.
Sally, averting her eyes, would do her best to ignore her.
If Sally happened to be out to dinner with Jeff, and Jill came into the restaurant? The minute Jill spotted the two of them, she’d stride across the room to them, say something sarcastic like “Isn’t love sweet?” -- and then tip over their table.
Over it would go with a huge crash! Then, with every eye in the restaurant upon her, Jill, a satisfied smirk on her face, would turn and leave.
Over the years this happened a number of times.
“Can’t she just get over it?” Sally would wail.
Apparently, she couldn’t. It certainly wasn’t a mature way to handle the situation and yet, it obviously made Jill happy, since she kept right on doing it.
I thought of Jill recently when I read a magazine article about the fact that in China there’s an entire profession of people whose business is to help out married women whose husbands have strayed.
These women use a range of methods to separate a man from his side chick. They’ll entice her away with cash. Or threaten her with exposure. There’s even one operative whose specialty is teaching wives how to confront and beat up hubby’s sweetie-pie.
Although it’s too late for Jill to hire someone to chase Sally off, maybe she should go into business coaching women whose partners have left them on the finer points of seeking revenge by making public scenes.
Would there be a market for this kind of service? Could be.
Three years ago, I learned that the man I’d loved and trusted for 20 years had a secret girlfriend on the side for ten years. I threw him out and changed the locks and I haven’t seen Mike since. I certainly haven’t ever seen him enjoying a romantic dinner in a restaurant with Maggie.
But if I ever do, I know that I won’t march over and overturn their table. (Although I have played that fantasy out in my head a few times and it does make me smile.)
When I stumbled upon evidence that Mike had been cheating on me for a decade, I was incredibly mature and well behaved about it. I didn’t shriek or throw things or cause a scene.
I just called him a few choice names, then put him in a taxi and sent him away.
I’m over him now. But it took three years and plenty of therapy to get to this place. And I did it without a single over-the-top screaming fit or furious gesture.
Some friends thought that I was too well-behaved.
“If I were you,” one said, “ I would have marched right up to Maggie’s door and rung the doorbell and had it out with her."
Others urged me to phone Maggie’s husband and tell him that his wife was two-timing him. (Yes, Mike’s secret sweetie is married.) “Don’t get mad,” one said. “Get even. Why not wreck her relationship? She ruined yours.”
Uh… because two wrongs don’t make a right? (Although I have played that fantasy phone call out in my head a few times and it does make me smile.)
Besides, that just isn’t me. I hate drama. There’s no part of me that would enjoy creating a big loud scene in a restaurant.
And yet? There’s something undeniably thrilling about Jill’s approach.
It isn’t too late to give Jill a call and ask for a few pointers. “I was wronged,” I could say. “and I have no idea how to pull off a spiteful gesture. Would you be willing to give me a private seminar on biting public sarcasm and table tipping?”
But that assumes that I want to punish my ex. And I don’t. The way I look at it, losing me forever is punishment enough.