Burt has times when he is sure I am one of “6 to 20” wives. Which one are you? Honestly – although I call this schizophrenia by proxy, – I am glad that, if he’s confused, he asks.
This query about who and which at 6 or 7 pm always puts me in a big panic. It usually signals a long chat (not unlike the one last night [see below]) but with much less likelihood of his falling asleep. At all. He just gets wound up!
When he doesn’t ask, I assume I am I and blithely interact as myself. I may, in fact, be “new girl.”
Often, his new girl interactions are very pleasant. He seems to crave novelty. [Ha.]
The only real danger in these cases of “mistaken identity” is that he will tell me, er her, that he hates his wife. The other pitfall is how very confusing this is for me.
Let me tell you how surprised I was that a 1am interaction that regarded who I might be was less jarring than expected.
Last night, I never said which wife I was. We went on to chat about schedules for the next 3 hours. At that point, I said we had to get to sleep.
And we did. No mention of how awful his wife was. Phew.
this is our life 