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You can’t call me because “she’s” there. It’s an excuse I’m growing tired of. When we’re together, you claim I know you better than her. That I give you the things she’d never even think to give you. You’ve said I take you places she’s too afraid to explore. Wifey-poo is terribly selfish and never thinks of your feelings, and yet…
Yet you refuse to leave her. Who do you stay when it’s clear she’ll never be me? Your lazy, uncouth wife will never come close to making you as happy and satisfied as I do. The choice is yours; after all, I’d never force you into something you didn’t want to do, but the longer you stay in your sad, little comfort zone, the better the chance is of you losing me.
