A Wifely Apology:
I’d like to officially apologize. While the acid comments over breakfast are most likely quite funny (especially the bitter ones about materialism, capitalist pigs, and Republicans) I know sometimes it’s better to wait until the dinner hour to throw around swear words and make references to the Mindless Masses.
Though 40 hours of cheerfully granted alone time might have been sufficient, in some circles, to jumpstart cheerfulness or recapture some youthful effervescence, alas they were unequal to the task. And while a seething undercurrent of resentment is indeed quite sexy to some men (as are sweatpants and oily hair I’m told), it may not after all be your particular cup of tea.
Hormones, wine for dinner, and no exercise since 1975 are excellent cornerstones of a certain kind of mental health, I’m sure, but don’t seem to work as well for me.
For these reasons and above all because you haven’t yet put me on the cover of Bad Wife Magazine, please accept my nomination as the officially adored mascot of all of us here at CrankMama. You surely deserve more than you’ve been receiving…
I remain, ever your faulty but hopefully never boring wife.