I'm George, mwm, 52

What would you do if you found out that your wife was cheating on you?

Well, take a peek into the mind of George as he goes through the process of discovery. You'll probably be more than a little surprised at his reaction. Of course you would have to know his wife Abby. Here is how George describes her:

"Abby, my wife, is 48, 5-4, 104 lbs, blue eyes, quite pretty, and she turns more heads than just mine, as you will soon find out.
We’ve been married twenty four years and most of the marriage has been what most people would probably call happy, but keep in mind that there’s always more to the equation than what floats on the surface.

If I had to pick out what is best about us, it would be that we say ‘fuck’ a lot. Not that we actually fuck all that much, but at least we sit around and shoot the shit and everything is ‘fuck this’ or ‘fuck that’. It’s kind of nice when you can sit down with your spouse and just say whatever you think or feel and not be overly concerned that they will take offense and get all pissed off and create some kind of big issue over some random words that, when you think about it, are really just imperfect representations of thoughts and emotions anyway.

I’ve never liked to hold things back, and Abby is that way on steroids. She’s a lot more careful when other people are around, but when it’s just me and her, I can expect a whole lot of shit to come flying out of her mouth, and I like that.

Abby comes from a Northeastern Catholic family, and that’s where she gets her beautifully foul mouth. I’m from the South and I’ve learned to keep the conversation relatively clean, in most cases, down here. On the other hand, when we’re up there, it’s pretty much say whatever the hell you want, even around the kids, and nobody blinks an eye. I think it’s better that way. Kids up there learn early on that the thoughts and meanings behind the words are important, but not the actual words themselves."

And here is George's take on life, at least as it concerns ice cream and the Buddhists.

"Suppose you like chocolate ice cream. You are at home one summer night and you look in the freezer and the chocolate ice cream is gone. Abby, the bitch, ate it all last night when you were asleep. Shit.

Two choices now. Eat the coffee ice cream, which is there and which you like just as well, usually, but not tonight of course, because the chocolate is gone, and we all know that we always want what we can’t have the most.

Second choice. Get in the car, drive to the grocery store, wait in a line that’s a mile long because it’s the time of the day when every fucking college student is buying just one thing, and that’s mostly a six pack of beer, and you know how long it takes since they all have bonus cards, which they forgot, of course, every fucking one of them forgot, and the cashier has to enter their phone numbers instead, and they can’t remember whether they used their cell phone or land line number when they filled out the application for the bonus card, and it takes you a good twenty minutes to get checked out, and by that time the ice cream if soft, and when you get home, it’s almost liquid, because it’s summer, so you have to wait at least an hour for it to get harder in your freezer, and even then, it’s way softer than you like it, and then when you sit down to enjoy it, you don’t, and you wish you had eaten the mother fucking coffee ice cream in the first place.

Lesson in life. Listen to the Buddhists. If there is chocolate ice cream in the freezer, at home, when you want it, eat it. If not, simply eat the coffee ice cream. Enjoy it. Become one with it."

Yes, George is a deep thinker indeed, and that usually drives Abby insane. But she has learned to pretty much ignore him, and George has learned to keep his thoughts to himself, except in this book.