F.A.F.O.

My husband spent eight months "working late" with the dental hygienist. So I've spent the last three months ruining his entire life — and sweetheart, I am having the time of mine.

Trevor cried at my kitchen table about his affair like he was the one getting screwed. Eight months. Hotel points. Some little thing named Ashley who cleans teeth and, apparently, sleeps with married men. He figured a few tears would smooth it all over when he came crawling back.

Bless his heart.

I didn't scream. I didn't smash his stuff. I just smiled, told him we'd figure it out, and went quiet.

That's the part he should've been scared of.

Because the woman he spent eighteen years overlooking? Turns out she's patient. Creative. And a lot more fun than he ever bothered to find out. Trevor thinks the worst is behind us. He has absolutely no idea what's coming — and neither do his buddies, who really should've kept their hands and their "shower pics" to themselves.

You wanted to mess around? Well honey — now you're about to find out.