I believe my wife is descending gracefully out of love with me. She hasn’t officially said it yet and maybe I’m over reacting. The signs have been everywhere lately. I’m just trying to make sense of it all over the past few weeks and I need to figure out if a subscription to E-Harmony or Christian Mingle is in order.
My wife is a special person. First, she puts up with my shit. Next, she puts up with my twin boys shit which is a byproduct spinoff of my shit which will eventually morph into a great big pile of shit for this woman.
Day in and day out this strong & patient lady washes our shit stain undies. She polishes our pissed drenched community toilet bowl attacked by three peckers with the piss release accuracy of a paraplegic dart champion recovering from a devastating double arm wood chipper accident. I wish I could say she cooks for us but I would be lying. I am the cook in the family. My wife has been known to over cook boiled water!
Push comes to shove, she is the rock that holds this family circle of chaos together.
Lately I have noticed changes with my wife and it has tickled my fancy and I’m very nervous. First, I can never score a babe like her at this stage of my life. She is a 10. I am like three quarters of a percent. My best qualities and what I could potentially offer a future potential mate is as follows. I am equipped with “3 1/2” bright white semi-gloss ear hair that looks as if Teen Wolf went skinny dipping in a pool of whiteout. My physique resembles that of Axel Rose on Jenny Craig. I’m hung like a single pole electrical three way light switch. Second, my yearly income can barely support my FROYO topping addiction and I have the communication skills of Rocky Dennis at a beauty pageant.
So naturally I’m trying to hold on to this Senorita. Otherwise it’s me pretending to be a rich Jewish doctor on J-Date who’s special interests are potato lotka preparation and romantic walks to the bank.
I have been with my better half more than 20 years. I know her moves. I know her actions. I know her intentions. I know when she is trying to run the fuck away.
It starts with the obvious. When we are intimate she begins to sing “I hate everything about you” by Ugly Kid Joe and starts to shake like Vanilla Ice at a police taser seminar. She also installs a cotton sheet with a penetration hole the size of a deer tick between the two of us like she’s applying for an illegal building permit to build the towns largest Yeshiva. If that has not crushed me as of yet she begins to consume enough notoriously gastric roasted broccoli and red pepper humus to blow a hole in the Hoover Damn. She has even gone as far as to hold my child hostage as her fully loaded anal cheeks pinned this poor boys frontal lobe to the floor as she hovered over him lip singing Air Supply’s Greatest Hits threatening to blow his eardrum out of his skull.
Upon attempting these extremely obvious tasks of driving her husband towards divorce or simply forcing me to swan dive off the nearest bridge, she still has the balls to ask me to get her an ice water and rub her dry ass alligator feet. The balls on her.
As I’m actually writing this at
12:30 am she snuck into the room I am hiding in and scared the piss out of me again. Now she must call Stanley Steamers tomorrow to clean her Arizona Tan micro suede couch I just happened to drop a Hershey kiss on.
I love my wife very much but I know when I’m not wanted. I feel my life is in danger. Hopefully I will make it through the night without her popping up through the Garbage disposal or erecting from the crushed ice dispenser.
The struggle is real.