There was something almost familiar about the young girl clinging to her husband’s arm, but she couldn’t place her face. Or the red hair in its boyish cut. Or the shapely, too-perfect young body, barely covered by the tiny skirt and a skimpy top.

Despite the pain and anger threatening to overwhelm her better judgment and causing her eyes to well up with tears, she quickly ducked into the short hallway leading to the establishment’s restrooms and watched surreptitiously. Her husband seemed almost oblivious to the strumpet hanging on his arm as he joked and laughed with his friends.

She watched, seething in silence, as the little homewrecker lithely stood and stretched, the eyes of all those at the table glued to her taut form as her ample breasts threatened to burst from her tiny top and her skirt inched upward. For the first time, she saw her husband pay more than fleeting attention to the girl and almost gasped as his hand traced up her supple thigh, kneading the shapely upper thigh.