Peter hoped to go to Paul Newman's restaurant on Saturday night, but I figured the place would be jammed with theater-goers (the Westport Country Playhouse is located next door), so we went to our favorite Mexican haunt instead. I was happy to go someplace dark and familiar.
Instead of going to see Sicko, we ended up in Trader Joe's (we love Trader Joe's!). When we were first married, we used to go to the supermarket together, and we enjoyed being able to do it again without offspring arguing with us to buy things we don't want.
On the way home, we got caught in a flood on Route 34. Water gushed up to the doors of our car. I don't think I've ever been on the road in such conditions. Pretty scary, but we came out of it okay. A lot of other people had to pull over and fiddle around under their hoods.
During all this, Peter told me that two guys he works with are dealing with girlfriends who routinely check their cell phones for evidence of communication with other women. I have news for you; the day I feel compelled to check Peter's cell phone is the day I die. And the day I find him checking mine is the day he dies.
It's harrassment. It's surveillance. It's unattractive.
If a guy cheats (or has given a woman reason to think he has), isn't she better off discussing it and feeling him out? Sure, he might lie to her, but then he's only confirmed the fact that it's time for her to hit the highway.
As for the guys whose girlfriends are surveilling them, both asked Peter's advice.
"Are you cheating?" he asked.
"Absolutely not," came the replies.
"Do you like coming home and getting the third degree about Betty from Payroll's number being in your cell phone?"
"Well," Peter said. "These situations don't usually improve with time. You might want to rethink the relationship."