Okay, this is what Dear Abby is talking about when she says MYOB. Help me, Abby, to keep my mouth shut.
Here I sit, in a Starbucks, working on my WIP, minding my own business, trying to avoid all distractions, when this handsome doctor sits down only a few tables away. Moments later, an attractive blonde joins him, all friendly-like. They're both wearing wedding rings, but it's obvious they're not married to each other.
I try to ignore them, but her batting eyelashes are as loud as 747 on take-off. Each time he touches her hand I want to scream, "Stop! Stop this now!", but she just giggles.
One of my life's mottos is: Live and let live. But I do have limits. Like terrorism, serial murder, and extramarital affairs. They're just wrong.
Think of the pain that is sure to follow this skinny-latte tryst. His wife? Her husband? Their separate but equal children who, I'm sure, do not want step-siblings? Stop! Before it's too late. Please, men and women of Starbucks, unite and help me tell them to see the light. I guess I would need strength in numbers to right this wrong, like a flash-mob kind of strength.
I'm no purist, and certainly I've made mistakes. And this isn't about religion for me, either. I just hate lying. Hate it. If their marriages aren't working, they should fix them first, not after oceans of tears, hours of screams, and millions of dollars of therapy.
Alas, the best I can do is to use them for character studies. Probably I'll have a character in one of my books who will have an affair, and perhaps he'll be an egotistical doctor with a pandering friend.
Meanwhile, I'll turn to face the (very loud) father who just arrived who is making up (very loud) stories for his two giggling children. My faith in humanity is saved.