Ask Marla: Wife Having Affair?
17 Jun 2024

Dear Marla,

I think my wife Sally might be having an affair. I found a text on her phone from someone named “Roger,” which said, “Can’t wait to see you tonight!” When I asked her about it, she said Roger is her new yoga instructor. She’s also been working late a lot recently, and she seems more distant. Am I being paranoid, or is there something more sinister going on?

Yours sincerely, Troubled in Tiverton

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Dear Troubled in Tiverton,

My dear boy, the woes of matrimonial melodrama! What a delightful quandary you’ve presented. Let us traverse the tangled web of suspicion and domestic disarray together, shall we?

Firstly, the ominous text from “Roger”—a name that conjures up images of mustachioed men in too-tight neon pink trousers who probably own an alarming number of yoga mats. Yoga instructor, she says? How convenient. It’s always a yoga instructor, isn’t it? The noble purveyor of downward dogs and vinyasa flows, who apparently also dabbles in upward texting and horizontal folk dances, all while listening to the pulsating rhythms and throbbing base of some postmodern dance hit with unintelligible lyrics.

Now, about these late nights. The classic cover story. She could indeed be toiling away under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of her office, slaving over spreadsheets and TPS reports. But let’s be real, Timothy—who stays late at work willingly? Workplaces after hours are the sanctuaries of the deranged and the haunted, not of the dedicated and diligent. I’d sooner believe she’s joined a cult that worships photocopiers.

And her distance, Timothy. The icy emotional chasm that has opened between you. You feel it – and it might be because she lost interest, or because you’re so boring that any warmblooded woman would lose interest in you.

She might just be plotting a surprise party for you? Perhaps she’s creating an elaborate mosaic of your face out of tiny pieces of quinoa for your upcoming birthday. Stranger things have happened.

But let’s not jump to conclusions. You must gather evidence. Follow her! No, wait, that’s illegal. Hire a private investigator! No, wait, that’s expensive. Instead, why not develop a debilitating case of obsessive paranoia and incessantly question her every move until she either confesses or files for divorce? It’s a foolproof plan!

You could also start an affair of your own. She might benefit from seeing your affection as a competition of some kind. This works best if you sleep with a sister, a cousin, or a best friend – that way it can really hurt once it’s discovered.

Or, and I’m just spitballing here, you could try and communicate with her you paranoid twat. I know, I know, it sounds radical. Sit her down and express your concerns in a calm, rational manner. But where’s the fun in that? Where’s the intrigue, the drama, the thrilling uncertainty that makes your whiny little life so deliciously unbearable?



Marla doesn’t base her advice on fickle nonsense like ‘social sciences’. Her advice comes from her lived experience as a 54-year old divorcee who lost her youth to a bastard of a husband, her looks to three ungrateful children and her career potential to endless rounds of booze at her local pub. Being unlicensed, she can give advice that cuts through all the clutter and avoids the latest mollycoddling advice issued by the weak and watered down standards of professional care, so you can get your crap together, stop whining, do the obvious and get on with your life. You’re bloody welcome.