He scratched the top of his ring finger. His wife wouldn’t like that he had taken it off.
A few days after her funeral, he was heading to pick the kids up from school when he got a call.
It said “Don’t worry honey, I got them”.
The chartreuse noose that hung from the gnarled spruce grew tight ‘round the neck of the obtuse moose.
His imminent mortality led him to deduce that alcohol abuse was no excuse to seduce the farmer’s wife.
I wasn’t lying when I told him I didn’t dance with another man. But he didn’t ask me if I kissed one.
It’s been fun babe, but sorry. Your best friend deserves his wife’s fidelity.
I’m free; what have I done?
This dichotomous thought occurred to the knife-wielding man as he stood over his newly murdered wife’s corpse, wondering what he should do next.
Tiffany slid off her ring and set it gently on top of the dresser every night just before going to bed. She was a wife by day; dreamer, by night.
In retrospect, I’d say that travelling was quite similar to using a new bath salt: exciting at first because it’s new and different but then you’ve been in too long and your fingers start to prune and get all nasty just like they do for any other bath you’ve ever taken – but I have to admit, Bill’s excitement to see Barcelona and Santorini, Cairo and Istanbul, Tokyo and Singapore, Auckland and Ushuaia and all those other places I’ve already been to not once but thrice, seems to have reignited an excitement in me that I rendered long gone. Although I desperately long to settle down and stay right where I am for once in my life, Bill gave me the gift of feeling young again – that wondrous excitement of youth – so I suppose the least I can do for my husband is pour in the salt and take a bath with him.
“You suck,” I shouted, drawing a vindictive stare from my wife.
“No, I was talking to the black hole,” I added, as our bodies were ripped apart by the tidal forces.
Rental agents annoy me.
So do rental wives.
She wanted to be an architect.
She ended up as an Airforce wife.
Even my sales copy is a message of love for my future wife.
Why do you think I hate people messing with it?
I took a wife when I was twenty-six.
Not my wife, of course.
Before we were married I once tied her up, blindfolded her and fucked her hard.
More confessions I’ll never tell my wife.
Phoebe – a small dog who wasn’t known for her jumping abilities – wasn’t allowed on the furniture but after begging every night, her female owner finally said, “OK, Phoebe, if you can make it onto the bed by yourself, then I’ll let you stay up here.” Moments later Phoebe used all her might and jumped on the bed; her female owner turned to her husband and said, “See, I told you she speaks English.”
Angela was consumed with fear each time her husband left the house thanks to the increase in crime in her neighborhood so she secretly bought a gun to protect herself. One morning the security alarm went off so Angela ran down the stairs and shot the shadowy figure that was trespassing; Angela turned on the light only to find her husband lying in a pool of blood holding a bouquet of roses.
After the gingerbread man came to life do you think the baker made another?
Did he make himself a wife?
I didn’t lie to my wife about the night out.
I mean, they’re not really strippers if they arrive naked, right?
I rang a share house once to see if the room was still available.
Three years later when I met the girl who would become my wife she turned out to be the girl who said “sorry it got taken over the weekend”.
My clockwork wife and I are pretty happy.
We do wind each other up occasionally.