Well, well, well. I might've bitched about his choice of underpants; I might've dragged my heels when it came to actually wanting a relationship with this man (and for good reason ? one should always enter a relationship with flags raised), and I might've even gone on and on about how perfect he was. And he would've been. If he wasn't cheating on me.

It's French to have a mistress. It's American to get caught. He's obviously been outside his country far too long.

It's not as if we were serious. But finding clandestine messages on his phone from his 'petite couchon-d'Inde' (his little guinea pig), felt as if someone had thrown a rugby ball into my stomach at close range.

Acting the good guy, he said he had nothing to hide from me. I asked him why she was his little guinea pig, and it turns out they used to date before. On top of it all, he had plans to take her out for a candlelit dinner.

Worse than being dumped

It's one thing being dumped, or having your ego bruised, just because things weren't working out. It's quite another having your heart ripped out by him and another woman collectively.

It's intensified hurt, one that makes you want to vomit compulsively. I could ask why he felt the need to cheat, when perhaps he could've just been honest, but what's the point? I could ask a million questions, but do I even really want to know?

I am a girl who usually finds it difficult to trust men. I've been cheated on before, and my therapist has a lot to say about the fact that my father had a plethora of mistresses hidden in the closet before he left my mother for one of them.

However, this instant scepticism of the male doesn't mean I don't trust them. It's easier to trust someone you love than not to. But give me a reason to allow the little voice in my head to drive the point home (just look at his phone. Look at his phone), and should the bells start clanging (romantic dinner for his ex girlfriend whom he calls his little fluffy rodent), then yes, the waves of mistrust will come pounding down. I know a woman who demanded her husband tell her who this 'Lindsay Saker' was. He'd made a few calls and his VW was 'in for a service'. Never

The other issue with finding that someone has cheated on you, besides the hurt and pain and all that tremendously taxing emotional grief, is the immediate humiliation.

Cheating serves you a deluxe dish of Cold Heart, with a dollop of Humiliation on the top, just to make the serving more of a mouthful on a whole.

Everyone knows they were cheating before you did. Everyone warned you about them, and yet, you gave them the benefit of the doubt.

God, I let Frenchman cry into my bosom one evening because he felt so upset about his break up. Humiliation just makes you feel stupid. You lagged behind in the Obvious Department and only when the chips have fallen have you pieced everything together.

Once a cheater, always a cheater?

In his skants, I kicked him out onto the pavement. He asked if he could call me again. I loved that bit. As in, 'you're cross now, but maybe you'll want some lovin' later when you've cooled off?'

I?m absolutely furious, to the point where I believe I am frothing at the mouth. And yes, we can categorise cheaters into little cliche boxes from whence they hail: they're bad, they'll do it again, they've done it before, they're shitty people? But each scenario is a case study on its own. Why? Because it feels so crap when you're the cheatee.

I suppose he seemed too good to be true anyway. Aren't they always? Minus his underpants, he was too perfect. Now she can deal with his Woolies Three Pack; she can have this good-for-nothing loser all to herself. I'd honestly rather be alone than be with a guy who cheats on me, lies to me and on top of it, has the balls to ask whether I'll 'stick around once I've calmed down'. No apologies, no sincerity, nothing.

Moral of the story: if it takes you time to trust someone, pat yourself on the back. Trust is earned, and a healthy dose of scepticism on the side may just keep your reality in check.

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