She'd had it all figured out. Grow up and leave her past behind. Go to college, get a great job, marry a great husband, leave the great job to stay home and raise a couple of great kids. Heck, she'd even bought one of those cute retro aprons to wear with the idea that even if her food sucked she'd look like good making it.
It started out alright. She'd gotten the degree, landed the husband, had the kids, everything was right on schedule. She cooked healthy meals, kept the house and children clean, ferried them around to playgroups and kindermusik and soccer. She spent months planning their annual vacation, searching for the perfect rental accommodation within walking distance of the perfect family-friendly beachside promenade. She kept her husband's work shirts perfectly ironed, and made sure she brought the perfect dish to the company picnic. Everything was perfect. Life was perfect.
And then one day the telephone rang.
There was so much static on the line she could barely hear the voice on the other end. After endless rounds of "who? what? WHERE???" she realized it was her husband, who was in Cleveland on a business trip. Except he wasn't in Cleveland. He was calling from Tahiti. Hold on, he was what? He's not supposed to be in Tahiti, he's supposed to be in Cleveland. What the hell happened to Cleveland? After a few more attempts she finally understood. There was no Cleveland. There had never been a Cleveland. There was only Tiffany, his 23 year old, 110 pound secretary, and Tahiti. And some tiny inn he'd apparently bought in Papeete. He wasn't coming home. Ever. But you don't even speak French, she said. No, but Tiffany does. We've got it all figured out.
They've got it all figured out. Great, just great. And when exactly had all this planning taken place? While she was ironing his shirts? While she was driving their children, the children they were supposed to raise together, to playdates and soccer? While she'd been baking a pie for his damn company picnic?
With just one phone call it had all come crashing down. He'd gone off to live his fantasy, and hers had gone up in smoke. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
This is not what she had planned. Not at all. All of her hard work and this is how he repays her. Damn him for that, she whispered to herself. She opened the phone book to divorce lawyers, promising herself that she'd find one that would ensure he could never afford even an "I went to Tahiti..." t-shirt, let alone plane fare home to see his children.
Two could play at this game. She'd see that his little fantasy turned into his worst nightmare. She wondered how much little Tiffany would like him when he's just a penniless 45 year old man who's losing his hair...