Peace

Would someone tell my wife, that I am not just some sort of toy!

The wife and I are pushing on in years. She will be pissed at me for admitting this, but 50 is the next big milestone. We are creaking on up there. I don’t mind, the world keeps turning like. But I think the boss and I are starting to run into a problem.

The problem is Sugar Baby is turning into one of those cougar types and I am turning into one of those grumpy old fellows that just wants to be left alone. “Feck, just give me some peace!”

Like the other day, I was in the kitchen doing the dishes, because that is the type of washed up punk that I am. Next thing she walks on by me and drops the palm. God damn it. I jumped and got soapy water all over the place. It ain’t right! And I don’t care how many times I might have dropped the palm when we were young. It does not make it right now. Two wrongs do not make a right. Although three lefts do make a right.

I can’t keep up. I keep telling her she needs to get a boy toy. Give me a break. But for some weird reason she still just wants me. God damn it, for being so desirable. It is a curse.

It is tough being objectified all of the time. But for the most part I just grin and bear it. Besides it is mostly my own damn fault. I poured the honey on thickly when we were young. It gave her a sweet tooth, and now I must deal with the repercussions. Damn me and my wicked ways. But I have made my bed and now I have to sleep in it. IF ONLY SHE WOULD LET ME SLEEP IN IT!