“I have to hang up now. My husband is home.”
Her husband had not come home early. In fact, he didn’t even come home on time that night. While his wife spent her lonely hours wondering why she had lied to a man and cried for a man whom she’d never even touched, Mr. drank at the bar, and bought pretty little ladies named Amber and Tiffany pretty little drinks, yellow and pink.
When he finally did come home, Mrs. was so grateful for the interruption of her thoughts about Him, she took her husband to bed; but she was numb to his flesh, and once through, she was only left with a terrible ache in her heart and a dirty taste in her mouth.
“I love you,” said Mr.
“I don’t love you,” answered Mrs.
“Yes, you do.” And then he fell asleep.
Mrs. lay awake all night breathing in the acrid air around her, and wondering why men like Mr. never die in car accidents.