My formerly-beloved and I were at the brink. Through an acquantaince I obtained intelligence regarding another man spending the night at our domicile while I was out of town. Naturally, my curiosity was piqued. When confronted, the following was her response:

SHE: "He was too drunk to drive and wouldn't leave."

Ah, well, fine, we can leave that to the side for a moment, but do tell me: why did it require my acquaintance taking a photo of his license plate at approximately 2:00 AM to coax forth this confession? I expected this to be a cue for the de rigeur hamster rationalizations...

MYSELF: "Why didn't you tell me about it the next day? That would've been the honest thing."

HAMSTER: silence

I was dumbfounded that the rodent had been so readily vanquished. Perhaps she was not so accomplished at skullduggery as I had once imagined!

The conversation continued, but I leave the banalities of suchall to the ether of frail memory... the best place for them, really. In due course she entreated my forgiveness. Suffice it to say: such was not forthcoming. I could not resist a final wile of my own, however:

MYSELF: "If I can read the texts between you guys, then maybe instead of [ending], we can talk to a counselor."

SHE: "Okay. Okay I'll find my phone. I don't know where it is, but I may have left it in the car."

Oh, the joy of it! To hoist another by petard -- or perhaps more appropos in this circumstance, canard -- is such a sublime pleasure! I did not allow the delight of it to color my countenance, else I would have spoiled the kabuki she was preparing for my benefit.

You see, whilst she showered not 10 minutes prior, I had located her phone in her purse, and used her code to read her text messages to the selfsame scoundrel. I knew the contents of the messages I desired from her already... I merely wanted her to admit to them.

(The contents of the remaining messages were suggestive, but not explicit.)

Her back was to me when she went to her purse, blocking my vision momentarily. No matter. She then turned, ever so slightly, to allow me to see her rustle the pouches I knew did not contain the phone. With an exasperated sigh (she truly is a thespian at heart) she took with her the car keys and went outside. Whether she went so far with the deception as to actually go to the car I know not, nor do I care, but when she returned she handed me her phone, code already entered. I could look as I liked!

Alas, what was this? All of the text messages were deleted? How could such a thing be?

SHE: "You used to have an iPhone, you know they can eat your messages sometimes."

A thespian she might be, but a Savonarola she is not. (Then again, considering the imminent immolation of our relationship, perhaps a Savonarola she is!) I remain amused by her maladroit attempt at deception. Needless to say, the ending of the relationship is at hand, and counseling is not.