A Tangled Web We Weave

I considered writing this post last night when yesterday's events were at the top of my mind. However, I have learned that my message is often communicated more precisely with a kinder delivery when I sleep on it. So, that's what I did—and then some, a whole business day's worth.

And here's what I learned from that: anger passes but leaves resentment behind; it's critical in maintaining one's integrity and inner peace to rid oneself of that resentment right away. Lucky for me (and you if the full transparency of my writing is something you appreciate,) I have this outlet for that very purpose. So, here goes—and there goes the neighborhood.

Yesterday at 10 a.m., while I sat on my front porch sipping my morning coffee and staring at the screen of my Macbook, two police cars pulled up next to my driveway. My heart sank to my feet. Although I know I didn't commit a crime, it's still disconcerting when cops show up at your door. Not to mention, my husband shared a text message with me recently—one from his lover—proclaiming she planned to have me arrested for harassing her. But in knowing I hadn't harassed a woman I'd never even met, nor know her residential address or frequent her workplace, I discounted the threat of criminal charges.

But there they were, two officers, with their hands on their guns as they approached me—a 130 lb woman alone on her front porch next to her pricey laptop, no weapon in sight. The cop in the lead asked me if I was me.

"Yes," I said, "how can I help you guys?"

"We need you to come with us and resolve an issue. We have a warrant for your arrest."

"On what charge?" I asked.

"Stalking," said cop number two.

At this point, my husband—yes, husband, since we have not filed for divorce or legal separation and he hasn't moved out of our home—walked outside.

"Did your girlfriend do this?" I asked.

All I got in response to my question was a sad look and an embarrassed I don't know.

Once at the jail, another officer gave me a copy of my arrest warrant. Not stalking, but harassment in the first degree—a misdemeanor. But more importantly, a pretty hefty claim against someone, especially when the report is chock full of false information from the victim, like an assertion that the two of us were at odds over my "estranged" husband. Estranged, huh? The man I lent my car to last week when his car broke down? The man I share a bed with, that husband?

Although the arresting officers were cordial and accommodating, they still delivered me to a place where I promised myself I'd never return—a holding cell. I'm kicking myself for believing them when they said I'd be in and out and home by the time my son's school bell rang for dismissal. It wasn't until eleven hours after my arrest that I was released.

Moral of the story: in this country, they say you are innocent until proven guilty, but the innocent are susceptible to arrest and incarceration, nonetheless.

Why is it possible to press criminal charges against someone based on one-sided information that certainly holds no water? What factual evidence could there possibly be in a crime never committed? Unless, of course, it's a crime to call the woman who’s involved in an extramarital affair with  your husband at her day job to get her side of the story. Perhaps, visiting your husband at work when you're certain his flirty co-worker isn't there, subsequently realizing she is there when you see her walking to a vehicle, and asking her if you two can talk is a crime? It seems unreasonable to me if it is, though.

Either way, lying to the cops is never a good idea.  Anyone ready to call the police on others should know that. 

Thanks to nature, nurture and therapy,  I don't threaten violence, nor intentionally harm other people. But, a cheating man can tell the other woman anything he wants to keep her engagement, including slandering his wife's character, and she believes him. It's a shame, too—women should be lifting each other up, not bringing one another down.

And, for the love of God, ladies, don't screw married men, no matter what he tells you about his marriage and the woman with whom he shares it. After all, if mine said I was excellent and that he expressed his love to me often throughout nearly every day of our seven-year marriage, would a woman have sent him pictures of her tits, planned their wedding, and named their future children? 

The world may never know.