Between “hello” and fried rice

I had an interesting conversation over lunch. Somewhere between hello and fried rice and moin moin he told me that he cheated on his wife. An affair with a pretty young thing, 27, he was humble enough to say. Adeotun. He showed me her picture, she was very pretty. He told me how he wasn’t proud and how it wasn’t planned and all the clap and trap that sensitive types are obliged to say.

He told me how much he loved his wife and that their relationship was his grundnorm. How she was his best friend. She had a wierd expectation that all men will cheat.

He told me how noble he was for walking away from his mistress when she found the man she wanted to marry. Then he showed how she whatsapped him “thanks” at 1.47pm, a testament to their lasting friendship.

He told me that he belongs to the 20% that are happy in their marriage.

I told myself that he was full of shit.

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