I know what my wife's up to... (I think)

There are clear signs that the pressure of concealing her true identity is starting to break her
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The Independent Online

I am in a heightened state of paranoia and suspicion at the moment. I find myself unable to know who to trust. This follows the news that a journalist spent more than four months online pretending to be a pretty Tory PR girl in order to ensnare unwitting Tory MPs. I couldn't help comparing it to The Paedophile Hunter, the Channel 4 documentary last week that featured a man called Stinson Hunter who pretended to be an under-age girl in order to ensnare online paedophiles. Hunter got his targets to turn up at a house where he confronted them.

The journalist targeting Tory MPs seemed less interested in meeting them and more interested in getting them to send him/her a photo of their genitalia. Possibly anybody stupid enough to do such a thing deserves not to be in high office. My solution, however, would be to get hold of a photograph of the genitalia of a random, staggeringly well-endowed gentleman off the net. I would send this photograph to any online admirers who expressed an interest. This would be a win-win in that one could pretend to be impressive in the trouser department while retaining a get-out-of-jail-free card. Admittedly this would probably involve having to expose your disappointing genitalia to a court … but this would surely be preferable to what happened last week?

The reason I'm paranoid is that I'm starting to suspect that my wonderful wife of 14 years might be some form of journalistic "sleeper". I believe that she is engaged in some extraordinarily in-depth exposé of me. I have my reasons for these suspicions. A "normal" wife would be constantly enamoured with the things I get up to. She'd laugh and cheer as I got great scores on Xbox One while lounging in my pyjamas. She'd see it as an honour to get me snacks and make me sumptuous drinks while I'm watching Judge Judy. She'd be keen for me to look as presentable and elegant as possible and would therefore spend a lot of time washing and ironing my clothes before laying them out for me to inspect. I have to report that none of these activities are taking place.

Not only that, but her attitude towards me is increasingly going in dark directions. There is often anger in her voice and I hear her telling the dogs that I am a "stupid, lazy man". These are clear signs to me that the pressure of concealing her true identity is starting to break her. She appears increasingly stressed and uninterested in what pleases me.

Just last week I caught her in one of the outbuildings with Arthur, the young farm hand she hired. Arthur was in his shorts and she was "giving him a massage". I'm no idiot. I know what was going on. Arthur is clearly her newspaper contact and she was passing on information for the article. When caught, she quickly made up this massage nonsense. Whatever, mark my words, this is going to be an interesting early test case for the new press watchdog.