A Comedy of Errors

"Darling, you love comforts me like bright sunshine after a--" The scrap of paper said. It was my turn to vacuum the floors on Saturdays and right at the far end of our study table, just before it got sucked by the machine, I stooped and picked up the torn snippet. The scrawly hand wasn't mine and, in that moment, it was as if my life had been sucked by the vacuum cleaner. Who was writing Shakespearean love notes, albeit flawed, to my wife?

When Jen got home, I skipped the pleasantries and all but shoved the scrap of paper in her face.

"Oh, there it is!" She looked bewildered. "Where did you find it, love?"

"Don't love me!"

"I can explain--"

"You'd better get started then!" I stood akimbo, us barely inside the front door.

"It's not what you think."

"Then, tell me!" I demanded again.

"You know how..." She paused to think, "I decided to take up hiking again?"

"Yes, every Saturday. Five p.m."

"You remember, huh? Anyway, I met this guy--"

"What guy?" I was breathing down her face by now.

She backed up against the front door and her shoulders sank. "Well, he's part of a drama group--"

"I don't want to know what he does, ok?"

"No, I mean he asked me to join their troupe, and I did!"

"What has that got to do with this scrap, and why didn't you tell me?"

"I was about to..."

"But isn't Venus and Adonis a love poem, and not a play?"

"Yes, we're adapting several works into a collage drama, dear jealous Iago!"

Then, she punched me in the ribs and hugged me tight.