Anyone read that post in recon about "getting him to put down his baggage" and wish that there was something similar for our situation, the EA?
You could try describing, as she did: Imagine that we've just made love, you're feeling close and loving, and I go downstairs... straight to the computer to send an e-mail to a man you've never even heard of. While you're drifting off to sleep, secure in my love for you, I'm downstairs, telling this man you've never heard of, what a neanderthal you are, how I worked hard all day, and you came home, ate dinner, let me wash the dishes by myself, and then pushed for sex until I gave in, even though I was dead tired.
Imagine that you kiss me good bye in the morning and head off to work, where you tell your co-workers you're a lucky guy. While you're doing that, I'm reading my reply from, let's call him Dave, telling me to stand up for myself and see you for the selfish bastard you are. And while you're agreeing to do some overtime, because you know I'd love a newer and nicer washing machine, I'm on the phone with Dave, telling him your breath stinks and that you wear the most ridiculous underwear.
You expect me home from work at five when I do the weekend shift. You get the kids to straighten up the house, telling them mom's had a rough day, let's be thoughtful of her, she works so hard, let's have the place looking nice.
You put dinner in the oven, thinking how pleased I'll be to come home to a hot meal. You've even bought my favorite brand of tea and ice cream with cherries for desert.
I don't come home... you're annoyed. You've been with the kids all day, and you'd love some adult company. The dinner is overcooking... the kids are asking questions about my whereabouts that you can't answer... now the dinner is getting cold.
You feed the kids, trying hard not to snap or say something mean about their mother when they ask for the fifteenth time, where is Mommy? Your annoyance turns to anger, and as the minutes and quarter hours turn to many hours, your anger turns to fear. You get the kids to bed. You try not to pace. You start wondering if I'm dead on the highway somewhere. You wonder if it's too early to call hospitals or police-- it's been many, many hours by now. It's 9 o'clock at night, and you're beside yourself with worry. You start cleaning up the kitchen and the living room, because the police are surely going to turn up at the door any minute to tell you what happened.
When I come home, I tell you I stopped for milk and filled the gas tank... for you. I tell you I was so exhausted after work that I took a nap on the way home. It could be. And now, on top of your hours of worry and fear, I've just let you know you don't even have a right to feel concern or fear. You're being ridiculous. I was doing it all for you, working so hard, and you're mad at me???
Eventually, of course, the truth comes out. While you were concerned about my safety, I was having drinks with Dave, telling him what a bastard you are.
How would your spouses react to that?