that married life//being married to me...

I feel sorry for my Husband. I really, truly, do. Not only is he thirty and balding, he's also married to me. Poor guy. I'm not being hard on myself. I'm not pushing away love. I know what I deserve thank you very much. I'm just an annoying bitch. Here's what it takes to be married to me --

one. making a poster like this that sits above our bed and constantly adding to them. because being married to someone with anxiety and depression is really bloody tough and I need constant reminders that I'm not worthless and am loved.

two. spending thousands upon thousands of dollars on wedding/engagement/eternity bands and then seeing me either with a naked wedding finger or just wearing a hundred dollar x & o ring that I love much more.

three. making me tea because when I really need a cup of tea making it myself just won't do.

four. getting me drinks when I'm really thirsty because I'm too weak to get it myself.

five. hearing me complain about being starving because I forgot to eat for ten+ hours.

six. reminding me to eat because eating is boring. & ensuring that it's not just chocolate or fruit...

seven. having my idea of romance being just randomly standing in front of you naked and asking for sex right now please.

eight. hearing me screech while in the shower because I have an urge to give you a hand job.

nine. me hogging the blanket with it wedged tightly between my legs.

ten. needing/wanting/craving multiple orgasms during sexy times.

eleven. needing to know when you've arrived anywhere safely because otherwise I'm convinced you're dead.

twelve. hating talking on the phone. even to you.

thirteen. having to hear potato as a response to anything really sweet.

fourteen. always hearing something sarcastic, mostly when it's least appropriate.

fifteen. flicking porn videos way too much because there's always too much talking or romantic music. blegh.

sixteen. asking you to come home from work early because I need an orgasm {or fifty} and my vibrator just won't cut it. & then you come home to find me watching porn and writing grocery shopping lists.

seventeen. seeing me in pyjamas and/or underwear 95% of the time.

eighteen. always squeezing your blackheads and trying not to mind when it turns me on.

nineteen. also having sex after Cape Fear or anything of that ilk. always.

twenty. loving me when I least deserve it.


I'm just a dream aren't I?

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