You can't bring yourself to read them

As you stand there, staring at the screen, you realize you can't do it.
You shut the screen off and slump into one of the dining room chairs. There's a weird comfort in not knowing, not confirming the truth. You can't bring yourself to break that comforting bubble of deniability. If you don't read it, then it didn't happen, and it certain isn't happening still. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself, and you leave the phone on the table.
You head down to the pool, somewhat dazed. You pull the grill out and set up the bar, all with the ladies clamoring for drinks. You make margaritas and open bottles of wine, and pour yourself a glass of Dewar's on the rocks.
Ignorance is bliss.
You drink the smoky scotch and try not to picture your wife getting fucked by other men. {If KaylaSexLvl >2} You suppose it would be karma if she was. Maybe if you keep yourself out of trouble, then it won't be true. {endif} You curse that fucking bitch Hannah. Somehow, this is her fault. She spent that weekend poisoning your wife against you. You're convinced.
You shake your head, trying to return to normal.