Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


Is he still with HER???

Interesting day with my favourite supplier rep. We do business with a company that has the most delightful woman as their rep. She’s been with them at least as long as I have been associated with this company, nearly eleven years now. She’s an incredible and truly genuinely lovely person, young single Mum who got out there and kicked arse, building up this company from scratch with the directors.

Debbie is a petite, very attractive woman in her early 40s, I would estimate. Her husband left her for another woman when her daughter was very young. She has since re-partnered, and is pretty amazing. Always very bubbly and positive. We have always really hit it off. She always invites me to stuff that the directors of the companies are invited to, at professional gatherings, horse sales, etc. Sneaking me in to drink bubbles with her and keep her company.

When she heard a few months ago that Roger had buggered off with a woman he met online – because he’d been looking for nearly two years, while I thought we were working on saving our relationship after he had a long affair with a “friend” of ours in our homes – she was totally and utterly horrified. She was someone who had followed my academic journey closely, telling me how amazing I am for having done this, not knowing that I had been cheated on constantly. You know, you don’t run around telling people who don’t need to know that personal crap about your life! Finding out he had been lying and cheating all along, she just said, “what a disgusting man, WTF?!” You are amazing, what is wrong with these guys? Thirty years??? Bloody hell!

Today, she walked in and gave me a warm hug, asked me how my textbook chapter was going, and told me I looked fabulous. Then, “is he still with HER???” Then, the thing everyone says, “you know that she did you a favour, really, eh? These guys don’t change, and the women who relieve you of them, you know you are going to be so much better in the long term, right? I am living proof. It was super shitty at the time, for a long time, having to co-parent with him, and HER. But we are so much better than this – the best revenge is to let her keep him, it truly is.”

I know, in my brain this. And, yep, not going anywhere Debbie. He has it sussed. A mousy former betrayed spouse who is quite comfortable being the other woman, who helped break up a thirty year relationship, because she deserves it, and is more special than moi. Her kids need him more than mine do, right?

Why would there be any doubt they are still together?

Her ex-husband didn’t last more than a couple of years with the one he left her for. Most people seem to think it won’t last.

I know better. I know him. And I think I have her sussed. She just wants someone to cuddle her and tell her she’s wonderful, blinkered to what it took to get to that point.

Other people are just there to stand on to get what you “deserve” in life, right?



Dreams. All over the place. Tonight’s selection included my mother-in-law a lot. She kept showing up in the weirdest situations.

Also, Trinket.

Some were bizarre chases, Trinket running from room to room, being chased by an irate MIL. So weird, like my MIL was trying to eradicate Trinket from my house.

Symbolic, and Trinket refused to leave, instead ducking and diving ftom her.

Our friend is having his birthday afternoon he always has in his workshop this weekend. We always went together, Rog and myself, me always sober driving afterwards. Last year, I was not invited. For the first time ever. Rog did not tell me he was going, but I was expecting him home (from visiting Trinket) in the afternoon. That is what he told me. When he didn’t show up, I started to worry. A lot! It is a long drive, and I tried to message him, later calling. Nothing. He was not reading any messages.

Eventually, I bit the bullet, very concerned, and messaged Trinket. Was my bear okay, was he still with her?

No. He’d left hours ago. She thought he was going to our friend’s birthday drinks.

Then, I got frantically worried, visualizing him dead in a horrendous car crash.

Many, many hours later, he showed up, a bit drunk. He’d driven home drunk. Ugh. Normally, I would have sober driven.

My point is, this was just a couple of months into I’ve Met Someone Else, and I was painfully trying to wait it out. Sure he would wake up and realise what he was doing. Breaking my heart, ruining a good three decades of love, busting up everything we hoped, planned and worked for. For a piece of ass down the line. I honestly thought Trinket would back off and feel terrible for becoming the Other Woman she spoke of hating so much in her own marriage. She mentioned to me that she was terrified her husband was going to leave for one in particular.

This year, I have been invited again to our friend’s birthday drinks. I have no idea if Rog has. If he will make the drive up. But I am happy it was the friend himself who invited me, not his wife, who is a dear, darling in fact, friend of mine.

I dreamed of Trinket smugly beaming at me, having wrestled my lover off me, the trophy won. That shiny, winning cheater. All hers. I do fully understand the dynamics of ‘winning’ a cheater. But it hasn’t yet diminished my sense of loss, of being not good enough, of having my life’s work, my total commitment to whom I thought was my true love, my one and only, the darling man I thought I was going to grow old with, images of hand holding beach walks with grey hair, stooped bodies, etc, be cast aside so callously, so easily. Swapped out for a new model. Click! Just like that. Swiped left. Replaced. Vanished. Out of sight. I no longer want to stroke your skin, kiss your body all over, Paula. Yes, I told you you have the softest skin ever, softer inner thighs than anyone I’ve ever touched. Yes, I told you you were the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, who stirred the most intense passions in me, yes, I SAID looking at you takes my breath away.

I lied. Sorry ’bout it.

I wonder what it feels like to be Trinket, curled up inside his arms, sticky with his semen, his warm, soft body hardening as he wakes. Is it like winning every morning, waking up to him wanting her? Is there ever any thoughts of him making love to me? I had that. Those deeply intimate moments interrupted by starkly confronting images of his face buried in Leanne’s fleshy pussy, his fingers deep inside her, searching for her G spot, or balls deep in her, her bent over our bed as he thrust himself deeply into her, moaning and grunting with the animal pleasure of it all. I never struggled during our extremely intense sex after I knew about Trinket with images of him pleasuring her, it was only ever Leanne that haunted me, halting my sexual pleasure. I found that bizarre. Why just Leanne, when I was losing him to Trinket, the ultimate ‘winner?’


Anyway, we know how sparkly winning the cheater in this game is. I ‘won’ the last match, and it took over eight years to start to recover and trust him again. It is a prize with a lot of hooks in it. It is never quite the shape you imagined winning will feel like.

Unless you are a lot simpler. Like Trinket, I guess. And winning feels totally worth all the devastation and destruction caused. Because that is someone else’s life.

And someone else just doesn’t matter.

Ah well, there’s always my doggo!

We both had hair appointments yesterday 😜💇‍♀️🐶

My daughter collected her from the groomer, and cooked me dinner at her place. This was us late last night after another hell day at work and hair freshen up.

I had applied for one day’s leave to go to Sydney for NYE, to my darling friend’s. We had started to plan a coastal camping road trip.

My leave was declined. For the first time ever. No Thelma and Louise for us. FML.


The mindfuck channel

The most painful part of all of this is the whys, hows, the what the fucks. How could he send me loving notes, buy me gifts that had Love, Always inscribed on them, just days before the discard? How could he tell me I am the love of his life? He even said this many times AFTER he said he was leaving me for a woman he himself described as plain looking, small town, sweet, but boring, unstimulating? In other words, easy to manipulate.

Why? Why, when I finally got to our agreed target, both time wise and the result he said he was craving, and said, YES! I am in, I totally love you, and can trust you again, after years of really hard work, did he pull the rug out from under me? Why be that damn cruel to the person who gave and gave and loved and struggled with his cheating, but ALWAYS loved him?

I loved this from CrazyKat

There aren’t really any ‘good’ answers. I just know it is the deepest grief, the most agony I have ever experienced.

Chump Lady tries here. But really, it just reiterates what a damn cop out it really is. It’s just easy for these shallow people to turn the love switch off.


Wish I could be one of them.

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Morning mindfulness. Every day.

I slept the best I have since I moved here, last night. The remnants of the migraine gone. Only woke once, around 3.30am, and not for too long. Fully awake just before 5am.

That is fabulous for me!

My mornings usually consist of me trying to stay in bed to rest as long as I can manage, after waking fully around 4am. If I am particularly restless, I get up, meditate for 20 or 40 minutes, then make a cup of tea, waiting for it to brew as I pop over to the barn in my dressing gown, to collect feed for the chooks!

Man, can they eat! 6 little critters going through a 20kg bag every 5-6 days. They are growing girls.

I often manage to hop back in bed, do a little reading/research – the textbook chapter I co-wrote is still in review…, rev up a ‘marital aid’ – what a misnomer! – to take care of my ‘needs’ (ewwww, Paula, really? Yep. Well, no one else will!) and it helps to calm my heart. It still feels like it races every morning, the pain squeezing the muscle tightly. The meditation, and going for a stroll around my property, noting new blooms, or pretty birdsong, etc, is me banking mindfulness.

This morning, early, a friend messaged me very sadly. Our childhood friend who has terminal cancer is nearing the end of his battle, and she had been dreaming about him, waking with tears on her cheeks. I am seeing her shortly, as her daughter is my dog groomer, and that pupper has a hair appointment today! Her studio is located at her parents’ place. Can’t wait to hug my friend. She’s a very special woman. A walking bundle of love.

And a survivor of infidelity.

Ugh. It’s fucking everywhere. Mostly, I know women whose husbands have cheated, only know two men whose wives were the cheater. Of course, these are only the exposed affairs….

Namaste bitches! Time to plaster the I’m okay, capable face on and go adult! Acting level…Oscar worthy!

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Good advice

Just dropped off my son at the airport to go on a brief post-degree completion OE, and my kids have been fantastic.

But it is triggering.

They talked about their dad. Not much. But just normal stuff. My response is to just listen and if a response is required, to be kind. They both rolled their eyes at me when discussing his accommodation business. Son said, “well, Mum, he did replace one admin person with another one. He won’t be dealing with details like washing dirty linen! That’s why he has her. He’ll just be charming chatty host. She can wash the come stains off the sheets and clean the toilet! It’s who he is.”

Yeah. I know. I ignored the comment with a smile. These kids! What are they like?

It was good that his Dad rang him last night, before he left. I asked D if she had also had a nice chat with her Dad. She sneered and said, “no! I just don’t really.”

Which isn’t quite true. She did meet him briefly for lunch recently. And will see him over the summer. I’m not quite sure about her attitude. I think she is kind of trying to protect me. She doesn’t need to. But I know there is genuine disgust for his choices. I’m just glad the relationship is not irreparable. It did worry me. For her.

Anyway. Son on big bird. Now I can go home and clean up his mess! 🤣

He arrived home with four years of uni’s worth of crap at the other end of the country crammed into his car. I need to store it for him until he sorts his living out on his return.

And, the searing pain of seeing him off without his father grasping my hand, holding me tight, kissing my lips, is next level. This what what we planned for. The deep love and affection. It was always there.

D is driving home, my head is thumping, I had another migraine this morning, so still recovering.

I read some great advice on Matchdotcom -oh the irony! Where the lovebirds met! – about what you should do if you discover the man who says he’s single turns out to actually be married.

Ending with this paragraph…

My exact advice to Trinket when I found out about her, and met with her. I implored, “you’ve been in my shoes. Give us three months. Please back off and see how it goes. If we split at the end of that, please feel free to contact him again then. But, we are NOT separated, like he has lied to you. We have worked our (my!) butts off to heal from him fucking our ‘friend’ for 18 months.”

Nope. Fuck off Paula. I want him. Why do they do that, when they know the trauma and pain? I can’t fathom hiw you could live with that knowledge.

But, of course, she doesn’t know. He tells her I didn’t love him, didn’t have sex with him, I was a bitch. It makes it all so much easier for their twu wuv story.

And, she doesn’t appear to have loved her serial cheating husband, so, there is no empathy for my unending grief.

She SAID to me that she understood. And would give us space. She lied, and never even gave it 24 hours. Just swallowed his lies. He wanted her. So told her I was out, discarded, on the scrap heap.

I know it isn’t the OW’s job to be faithful to us. The cheaters promised fidelity. I get that. But surely, SURELY, there is a duty of care for women to not hurt each other, scrapping over an unfaithful man? No? Why is there no respect for long term love and partnership? I was brought up to think there was always the sisterhood, and a strong moral code of conduct that guides you not to sleep with other women’s partners. Am I that rare? It’s happened to me so many times now, there seems to be so many of these women who just don’t give a fuck that the man licking their pussy is taken. Promised, supposedly committed, to someone else. Someone who loves them bore their children, worked alongside them, looked after their finances, home, vehicles, for no pay. Because they thought partnership meant fidelity, respect honesty, integrity.

Yeah, right.

Why? Why did she not have any respect for my thirty year input? Are people just that selfish? Really?

And stupid. Yeah. I guess so.


When you’re more special

The most heartbreaking part of being rejected by the person you have sacrificed so much for – because, love, ugh – is the hard fucking fact that you were never truly loved. Never their special person.

He has always been mine. Never wanted anyone else.

And, the wedding dreams ache. When they get married in an intimate, low key setting, amongst friends and family.

And everyone is SO happy for them.

(Dry retching at the image…)

Because she is more ‘special’ than I ever was. Tears are dripping into my bath water at this right now.

And, to try to counter the agony of those mind movies, I do a couple of things.

I remember I am better than this. That long term, I will be healthier. I have never cheated on or with anyone. Ever.

I also draw on what my lovely research participant, in her 70s told me. That she wishes she had listened to his first wife. That her second husband was a cheater, abuser, liar. And the first wife did hint at it early on. She did not believe her, as her husband told her his ex-wife was an embittered liar. Hmm.

She found out the hard way after being fully charmed by him for their first years together. Then completely devalued and abused by him when she started to question him about late nights out, signs he had other women. He took her home and her dignity for some time after she finally got away from him. He remortgaged her home, and spent the money, probably on other women. She lost everything.

So, I read some comments on an online forum that reflected this. Where several women commented on their experiences with former cheats, where they were told their current husband had been in an unhappy marriage, that their wife didn’t love them, didn’t have sex anymore. You know the cheater script…That any tales about their infidelity were just the wife being bitter.

You know this story. The OW is more special than us. She won’t meet the same fate. Because. Special. More beloved. Dance pretty second wifey!

Of course.

And then I wondered at the stats around the ‘success rates’ of online relationships. This was without one of the partners being a lying, cheating married person presenting to be single online. And studies are starting to reflect a higher failure (divorce) rate than those that start offline.

Go figure, huh?

Lord, would I love some stats on the success rates for those that DO involve liars who pretended they were single!

But, of course, none of that matters when you are more special. I wish I could stop feeling like she is better at everything than me.


So, about my heart

Broken heart syndrome, as it is commonly referred to, has – as Shattered Wife so eloquently pointed out – more recently been discovered to have much longer term effects than was first thought. Even my cardiologist shared that up until quite recently they thought it was a temporary condition that had no long term effects. They now have evidence that there is scarring and does permanent damage.

My blood markers are slowly improving, but peaked again this week. That makes sense to me, my energy levels were depleted at the weekend. I stayed in bed late (not like me) and even had an afternoon nap on Saturday. Also not something I do. I knew I was not right. The bloodwork early yesterday morning reflects this.


Who knew, huh? Who knew that broken hearts were actually a thing? I did know the anecdotal stuff, but after being admitted to hospital with arrhythmia, I have discovered this relatively new research about particularly women and broken hearts. Much cardiac research originally focused on men, and in recent decades, it has been widely recognised that women are different.

Yep. We sure are. Our hearts are precious.

As one of my favourite truisms goes. The best thing a father can do for his children is love their mother.

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Two out of three kids are here tonight.

It’s amazing. I love it so much! Boy child is off to Europe on Wednesday arvo. So exciting! He arrived home during dinner after a 23 and a half hour drive.and my face hasn’t stopped grinning.

This feeling of family is so amazing. It got me thinking.

Now, that’s a surprise, right?😆

When Trinket’s husband died – which is a supremely shitty thing – she was prepared. He had cancer. And it sounds like there wasn’t a huge amount of love. He fucked that for her by shagging every passing twat he could clamber into. I think that is such a terrible thing for her to have endured. I really feel for her.

And, his death meant she was alone. With three still dependent children.

I don’t wish that on anyone.


She had her kids. 100% support. No divided loyalties. No shared time. She was somewhat relieved, from what I can gather. He was a shit. Also, just hearsay.

Because he was always a cheating arsehole, she formed other friendships and networks to nurture who she is. I still think she is a kind, if terribly selfish and naive woman. She has living, still married to each other parents. Sisters. Friendships with her dead cheater husband’s family.

When Rog announced he was fucking someone else, and was leaving me, there was no preparation. I had isolated myself to a degree, as people had blamed me for his cheating (FFS!) I was grinding out a higher degree, and it was intense! And, my mum was dead, I have no close relationships with my brothers, and a useless father. I was still very much in love with my darling boy. There was a small group of friends who were amazing, but, no family as such. I didn’t have a sister to call and share the burden with. My mum and dad were not available for me to go visit. I was not even slightly relieved. It threw me into a total pit of despair, which I have struggled to exit.

That is not to say I haven’t had support. I totally have. But, the warmth of a family hug, a place of respite.


I miss my Mum.


All for nothing

Bad night again. Lots of violent nightmares. It’s going to be a looooong Monday at work.

During those wakeful hours, trying to turn my mind off is the biggest struggle. It goes into overdrive, and practising mindfulness, even sometimes getting up, making a chamomile tea, and meditating, to try to still the racing thoughts is necessary. Trauma is a total bitch that takes over your cognitive functions, and you have to wrestle hard to get control back.

Last night, I got fixated on stubbornness. And how futile it is trying to move the immovable object. I know, because I have spent my entire adult life with a man who is like this. When I begged him to reconsider, that I had healed, done what he asked me – no insisted on, begging me – to do, he was not moving. He had met his Trinket. And fuck you, Paula. The mighty Roger has decided. I know trying to change his mind once the hammer comes down is impossible.

Losing a competition that, once again, I never knew he’d entered me in.

And of course, Trinket, the grand champion of this battle, has her trophy. She finally won one, got her man. (Actually, I stupidly thought he was my man, go figure….) Got him to move to her, to a region he’d never considered living in. All for her. They cannot fail now. Far too much invested.

I know this, because his best mate is the same. His wife left him for her business partner’s husband. It was ugly. But H, Roger’s best mate, immediately replaced her with his ex sister-in-law. The ugly got even uglier. This has been an ugly union. The second wife is seriously hard work. A bitch. I can’t quite work out why she hates me so much. I tried to accept her, and I knwo that beneath a lot of yucky stuff, there is also a lot of good in her. But, about seven years in, he wanted out. For a few years.

Big time.

She can be hideous. Bossy. Drunk. Loud. Awful. He wanted another divorce.

But H is a truly lovely, but weak man. He can’t be alone. And he admitted many times to us he could not deal with a second divorce. Two more kids (that he didn’t want, but she insisted on) added to the two from the first marriage. Being a two time loser.

Isn’t that so sad?

Thankfully, he is a good dad, and the bonus children are very loved, and it does appear that things settled down eventually. I still don’t know why she screamed at me when I was the hurt party after Roger cheated again, and left me for this one. That will probably always stick in my craw. I have wanted to contact her from time to time, but I know it really is best if I keep away. Sad, I lost a thirty year deep friendship with her husband. And I wasn’t the cheater, I was the loyal spouse. I am truly gutted still about that loss.

Anyway. My point is, even if everything in Norm and Trinket’s world isn’t as rosy as my imagination tells me it is (and why wouldn’t it be? They don’t have the pressures of young kids, the ridiculous 14 hour days dragging babies around in the pouring rain, after cows and calves, then having to come home and cook and clean, the stress of ensuring they don’t exceed their overdraft this month, they just have sunny weather, vineyard concerts, good restaurants and bike ride picnics followed by hot lovemaking sessions, satisfying all their fantasies, to fill in their underemployed time with) I guarantee neither of them will ever end things. Just like H, too much pain and destruction has been caused to ever say, hey, whoops. Not feeling this anymore. It kills me.

And feeds the self harm monster.

I don’t know Trinket, but she stayed in one unhappy marriage, she hasn’t got the ladyballs to leave this much more exciting, fulfilling union. And he is far too stubborn to do so, to maybe ever admit he might have been hasty, he should have given me a chance, or given himself the time to experience what being single is like. To learn who he is, as an I. A me. Not a we. Or an us. I am sure they are truly, madly in love now, and that will just grow and grow.

It aches, so, so badly, I am in agony today. Can barely function. At work, hard to be fully mindful and practice self care. This long out, I am too scared to tell any of my friends that I am not in a safe space, even though I know I need to. I will do, if I find it doesn’t dissipate by this evening.

His sad sausage, longing look and sad words as I left his house, This Is Not What I Wanted when I saw him in June. Ugh. Really? How convincing is that, my bear? You have your trinket to keep you warm. Even if you say she can never be what I was, you can never have what we had with her. Ugh. Dumbass. You were the only one who had any choice here. So why choose what you did not want? I sure didn’t want everything I worked so damn hard for to be gone, whisked away for another woman to capitalise on! I chose to stay, to do the hard yards, to work out why YOU chose to blow up what had been a really good life. You did fuck all but press me to forget what you had done!

What a load of complete bollocks.

To give you an idea of the dreamscape, amongst me being beaten, raped (it never gets old…) and tortured last night, his face would appear. He would stare deeply into my eyes as he pumped away on Trinket, and as he came, he would cry out to me, “this was not what I wanted, Snooks!”


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What else do I do?

So, I work. I do home and garden shit. I go to movies regularly. What else do I do?

This weekend was pretty chilled out. I think I got close to the bottom of the barrel with regards to my energy levels. It was rainy and I came back to bed after letting the dogs out, making a cuppa and feeding and moving the chooks.

Yesterday I got a little bit of chainsaw work done, tidying up the tree that fell on the lawn.

Between showers.

And went shopping for the loft. Violet came over for a few hours and we chatted away. She says the place is looking fab, and I showed her my leaky roof. She is impressed at my chainsaw skills and the things I have recently built, including how lush my vege garden is looking. She commented how it’s awful that I have been put in this terrible position after how hard I worked alongside Rog, but that my work ethic and no man needed attitude is standing me in good stead when it comes to life skills and property maintenance after he sacked me. She still can’t believe he did this.

Neither can I.

Traded me in for a new model after all I did for him. And she is funny. Made a snide comment about his (her?) accommodation business. Naughty Violet. Commented on how much cleaning and being nice would be involved – “washing other people’s sheets, eww,” – for relatively low return.

I dunno. Seems like easy money to me. Especially if she does all the cleaning, bookings and shopping 😜

Anyway. Whatever. Gross people that they are. Probably hosting more cheaters like they were when they booked an Airbnb near where I live now. So disgusting. They’ll be right at home with them.

Today, in the showery weather, I got the lawns mowed, and some of the loft stuff sorted. My boy will be home tomorrow night, and I want to have that space ready for him.

Then, I went to a Jazz Society evening in the city. A friend’s son was playing. It was really good! But a LOT of love songs, which are bloody triggering.

My lost love. It aches. So, so much.

Their shiny new love. Stabs me repeatedly in the heart.

So, I listened to more chill music on the way home.

The first time I saw you, you were walking out
I wanted to ask if you could stay
But you were on something with your friends around
There was nothing I could say
But I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while
I’m gonna keep you in love with me
The next time I saw you, you were breaking down
A million years had gone away
You looked right at me, I just turned around
There was still nothing I could say
But I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while
I’m gonna keep you in love with me
I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while
I’m gonna keep you in love with me
I have dreams of anonymous castrati
Singing to us from the trees
I have dreams of a first man and a first lady
Singing to us from the sea
So I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while
I’m gonna keep you in love with me
I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while
I’m gonna keep you in love with me
I have dreams of anonymous castrati
Singing to us from the trees
I have dreams of a first man and a first lady
Singing to us from the sea

Just home from dinner with them. They need to get back to Auckland tonight as both working early tomorrow.

As I was returning to the table tonight, I heard my friend, Angela’s mother, who was also with us, ask Angela if I was ‘on my own.’ Angela replied, “yes Mum, Paula’s husband was cheating and internet dating while married to her, and left her earlier this year for some bitch in (insert region here.) Blew up their whole lives to chase a bit of widow tail.” Her mother just tisked, and said, “what the hell is wrong with these men? And the women? Who willingly break up families? How damn awful.” Then I appeared and she said, “I’m sorry about what has happened to you.” I thanked her, my eyes getting a bit watery. I fucking hate the pity, even though I appreciate the kindness. Ick.

Am home already. See above.

And edited my daughter’s reading summary. About to have a glass of wine and read a book.

And a young friend of my son’s called in to see me yesterday. He said he can’t believe what Rog did, that I’m “a good bitch,” and he was an absolute creep and idiot. What a dick move, internet dating while partnered. How pathetic. The kids find it all so gross. Old people cheating online…like, hey, that’s only allowed for young people? Lol. These kids. So funny.