My Wife Hides Ice Cream Sandwiches from Me
The beauty of freelance, working-from-home life is that I can type this right now wearing a pink thong and lipstick on my nipples and no one is the wiser. The ugly is that there is a refrigerator with food I chose to stock a mere 15 steps from my desk.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?