I want you to cheat on me so you realize how good I am in bed. Because all I’ll do all day is draw up new game plans on how to ravage you. I’ll be the Bill Belichick of husbands. Kegels all day. Because these are savage times and your relationship is only as strong as your last fuck. God, you’re going to be pissed when I get boring but am still the only one who can skewer you into a seizure.
I want to grow old staring into a smartphone next to you. A real nice smartphone, birthday present from our son. The son who’s tall like his daddy who we forced into the NBA so we could cash in. Hopefully your mother tongue won’t be English so I can never creep on your emails and find dirt. You’ll make cute grammar mistakes and won’t realize how hackneyed my writing is. I want you to love me only for my body so that I stay in shape. I want you to die first because you cheated on me. And also because I have to see if my blog about being single at 80 will catch fire. So how about it.