The Note on the Fridge

Margaret had been married to Robert for thirty-five years—three and a half decades of shared memories, raised children, and the comfortable rhythm of long-term partnership. So when she walked into the kitchen on a Tuesday morning and saw the note stuck to the refrigerator door, she knew immediately that something had shifted in their carefully maintained balance.

The note was written on Robert’s expensive stationery, the kind he used for business correspondence:I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I want to begin by saying that I deeply value our marriage and everything we’ve built together over these many years. However, I must be honest with you about certain biological realities that I believe we both need to acknowledge.

At fifty-seven years old, you can no longer satisfy certain needs that a man of my vitality still possesses. Please understand that this is simply a matter of natural progression and biological fact, not a reflection of my esteem for you as a partner.

Therefore, I felt it was only fair to inform you that this evening, I will be spending time with Jennifer, my nineteen-year-old secretary, at the Comfort Inn Hotel on Highway 12. I trust you will understand that this is simply a practical arrangement to address these aforementioned needs.

I want to assure you that this changes nothing about our marriage or my commitment to you as my wife. I shall return home before midnight.

With respect, Robert

Margaret read the note three times, her initial shock giving way to something else entirely—a cold, crystalline clarity that felt almost liberating. She folded the note carefully, placed it in her purse, and went about her day teaching calculus to college students with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

That evening, she composed her own note, writing it on the same expensive stationery Robert kept in his home office:

My Dear Robert,

Thank you for your candid letter this morning. I appreciate your honesty regarding my age of fifty-seven years, and I’m grateful that you took the time to explain your perspective so thoroughly.

I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that you are also fifty-seven years old—a fact you seem to have overlooked in your assessment of biological realities.

As you know, I am a mathematics professor at Riverside Community College, specializing in advanced calculus and statistical analysis. I would like to inform you that while you read this letter, I am currently at the Hotel Fiesta downtown with Michael, one of my brightest students. Michael also happens to be the assistant tennis coach and, coincidentally, is also nineteen years old.

Now, as a successful businessman who has always prided himself on his excellent grasp of mathematics and logic, I’m certain you’ll appreciate the following calculation:

Nineteen divides into fifty-seven exactly three times. However, fifty-seven divides into nineteen zero times.

Therefore, based purely on mathematical principles, you will understand that we are in fundamentally the same situation, with one small but significant difference in frequency capacity.

Given this mathematical reality, I will not be home until sometime tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps later, depending on Michael’s stamina and my willingness to provide extra credit.

With equal respect, Margaret

P.S. – I’ve left a calculus textbook on your nightstand. The chapter on division might prove enlightening.

Robert arrived home at 11:47 PM to find the note prominently displayed on the dining room table, propped against a calculator and a mathematics journal opened to an article titled “Understanding Numerical Relationships.”

The look on his face, neighbors reported, was absolutely priceless.