Stranger in my house

You think you know someone. You give them almost 10 years of your life and in return you hope that... actually you expect that they have revealed to you the whole of their person. There shouldn't be any secrets, no skeletons waiting in the closets, no mysteries yet to be unveiled.

Marraige is supposed to be like Christmas. Your excited about unwrapping the presents but you pretty much already know what your going to get.

That being said I had no idea my wife had a secret.

A secret so dark, so repressed, soooo crafty.... Yes I said it, "crafty".

I came home one day to find paint in my house. Not the kind that you occasionally roll on a wall to keep your house looking like a pottery barn catalogue. Noooo not that kind. The kind of paint that comes in tubes and little bottles. The type that is applied with precision and little brushes.

"This must be some kind of mistake" I thought. Maybe she had a friend over while I was at work and it had fallen out of her bag. Yeah that's it!

That's when the secret side trips to Hobby Lobby started.

The whispered phone conversations .....acrylics....oils......

I knew the end was near....

Now I sit here surrounded by soiled newspaper splattered with various colors of paint, canvas's waiting for the grace of a paint filled brush, block lettering with gaily colored polka dots spelling out my yet unborn sons name.

Who is this woman I married?

I have a stranger in my house.