Someone I know called me the other day and told me her boyfriend (who lives with her and her 3-year-old daughter from a previous marriage) had cheated on her. "That stinks," I told her. We all know what that's like, and it isn't fun.

"No, you don't understand," she said. "He hired a call girl to come to the house ... while I was sleeping." Oh.

It was around 5 a.m. when she woke up and heard him rifling through the drawer where they keep extra money. When she asked him what he was doing, he said he was just looking for something, money in his hand. Then a car pulled up to the house and a pretty little young thing (and by that I mean a skankin' whore) came to the door. When confronted, the dude admitted it. (Me, I would have gone for the "I'm buying cocaine" option, because really, in that situation, it's totally the lesser of two evils.)

"What would you have done if I'd woken up," she asked, "slept with her on the couch?!?" Good question. Not-so-good answer: "I don't know."

And then people wonder why I'm still single ...