I love her but…
….she has an uncanny way of standing between me and the television screen. Bases loaded, two strikes, three balls. The crowd goes wild, the pitch flies, and all I can see is her butt.
….what’s mine is hers. I buy her negligees; she sleeps in my T-shirts. When she’s cold she wears my wool socks to bed, never her own. She steals my half-used razors; new ones are too sharp. She even wears my boxers. I’m tempted to switch to briefs just to see what she’d do.
….she makes lists. Things to buy. Things to do. People to call. If it’s not on the list, it doesn’t get done. Once, to be funny, I put “sex” on the list. Mistake. Now it has to be on the list or it doesn’t get done. ….after sex, I mean the second house, or to get pregnant, things get pretty intense.
….she takes her half of the bed out of the middle.
….have you ever seen a woman with green crust and slime smeared over her face, dark holes for her nostrils? Do you think you’d be able to sleep at night, knowing that creature is next to you?
….she wears these false eyelashes. She left ‘em lying around and I slammed ‘em with my newspaper, tried to kill the damn things. Scared me half to death.
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