I swore I’d never get involved with someone in the hospitality industry. I was part of it myself long enough to know that very few people in it are faithful to their spouses. Cheating is just a thing that happens in the industry, and I understand why.
The hours are long and grueling, and you wind up spending your life with the people you work with. You develop inside jokes, you work in close quarters, you go through the trenches with these people day in and day out, hours on end.
But then I went and fell in love with someone in the hospitality industry.
Hotel restaurants to be precise.
That means my husband spends holidays with his employees instead of us. There are no days his restaurants aren’t open.
This isn’t the first time he’s been unfaithful, and it won’t be the last.
I know you’re wondering why the hell I stay, but the answer isn’t so simple. We have three kids together, one of which he adopted from me and will be going to college soon. The other two are young and despite the infidelity, he is a good dad and an otherwise great husband. Where else will I find a super hot, ambitious man who thinks I’m sexy no matter what size I am and brings me eggs and coffee in bed every morning?
Exactly, I already found the only one.
There’s no support group for this industry. The wives of men in the hospitality industry suffer alone week after week, month after month, and sometimes year after year. We’re left picking up the pieces after long days at work and school. We’ve got to feed the kids and help them with their homework and put them to bed after we’ve endured the witching hour. Alone. The pay is lousy for the work they do, but we just put our heads down and deal with it for the men we love.
It is a thankless job, both his and mine. Hospitality isn’t really the right word for it, is it? They don’t get treated with much hospitality, especially in fine dining where they have to cater to the wealthy and entitled.
Nobody thanks me for the jobs I do at home. Hell, my people don’t even know that they’ve been done, they only realize when they aren’t done.
I knew it was going to happen again when the renovations on the main restaurant in the hotel began. I hoped I was wrong, but a woman’s intuition rarely is.
The long days started as soon as I got home from my last press trip. We hardly had time to say hello to one another before he was out the door, and he didn’t even make breakfast for me that morning.
I waited up for him and he came in the door looking disheveled and spent.
He just wanted to eat and go to bed so I let him.
This pattern continued day after day, leaving with his duffel bag before I woke in the morning and walking through the door after 1am most nights looking completely askew.
After a few weeks, I knew it had happened again. My heart began to race and beat at unusual intervals all day long. Indigestion crept back into my life and I was so nauseated I could hardly eat. I began to shut down and had trouble cooking meals or keeping a schedule.
Shit, I could hardly function.
I hope it ends soon, but in the meantime all I can do is ride this thing out. I’ve got a village of people willing to take care of me through this season, and hopefully he’ll come crawling back wanting everything I have to offer sooner rather than later.
I hope for our family’s sake I can continue to hang on and not give up hope that he will continue to choose us in the end.
But in the meantime, I’m just throwing up my hands with the realization that he doesn’t belong to me right now, he belongs to her. Her energetic, modern, delicious, beautiful self, with her tasty happy hour and new menu.
The new FOOW at WaterColor Inn.
Damn you, you siren.
Now go visit Kyle at work at the brand new FOOW before I make him start spending more time with me.