We have been married for a year.

And I am bored.

We used to be so happy when we were dating.

Well, as happy as any other couples in love, that is.

Sweet nothings.

Petty fights.

Make up sex.

More petty fights.

More make up sex.

Those times were exciting and carefree.

And not boring.

We are professionals and we are at the peak of our careers when we decided to tie the knot.

Apparently, around our necks.

You can never really know the real person unless you signed a marriage contract that is sanctioned by a nosey, we-have-to-be-involved-in-everything-going-on government, then ratified as soul binding by some religious bullshit.

That is when your partner will realize you can never escape.

They will lose the inhibition to reveal the worst image of themselves.

He never showed any sign of possessing the green eyed monster when we were dating.

But just a few months of that binding contract, I would go home and find him crying and being a Drama Queen.

Or worse yet, I would be dodging unidentified flying plates as I entered our home coming from an all night-out drinking with my wife-friends, with of course, its concomitant wild one-night-stands with single, flirtatious drunk men frequenting bars.

My vehement denials, while I stink from alcohol and cheap men perfumes, would seem to infuriate him more.

But you know the rule.

Never, and I repeat never, admit anything unless you are actually in flagrante delicto. 

The eleventh and most crucial commandment.

Or in case you actually got caught in the act, you can always get out of it by saying the usual, "I do not know how his dick got in there!" kind of comeback

What am I supposed to do? 

I like them pretty and sexy.

Women will always be women.

He used to be that, pretty and sexy.

But when we decided that I will be the sole breadwinner supporting our family as society dictates, and he will stay home to take care of the house, he let himself go fat and ugly.

Inhibition I guess got deleted in his dictionary from watching all that stupid, incredibly unbelievable Asian drama soap.

What is so hard about his job at home?

Cleaning the house? 

Doing and folding the laundry? 

Running my easy errands like fixing the leaks on the roof?

Making sure I come home to a hot, delicious meal? 

And of course, the usual "make me a sandwich" after sex.

Can't the Drama Queen see I have been driving to and from work, in heavy traffic, breaking my back working for hours in an fully air-conditioned accounting firm while dealing with a bitch for a boss at the same time?

I am pretty sure the woman-boss had to deal with the same kind of nagging husband like mine.

I expect, at least, to come home to a newly-showered, nice smelling husband who will have my slippers ready after he removes my shoes and massage my tired feet, a sumptuous dinner waiting for me on the table, and a whole body massage after he bathes me.

But no. He had to make me suffer more in my supposed comfort of my home.

I had to endure coming home to a sweat drenched stinky husband complaining he has been doing all the chores the whole day, and forgot to get me a pair of new slippers because the neighbor's dog ate them.

Why do I have to think of everything around here?

Sometimes I just can not seem to control myself when I see him whimpering like a little sick puppy that I slap him a little here and a little there, just you know, sort of bring him to his senses.

I can not understand why he would rant me to his daddy and accuse me of beating him till he is black and blue.

It was just a harmless, teeny weeny slap, for Pete's sake.   

Of course, it would follow that I would be the main topic when these Asian-drama-soap-addict husbands meet during their usual weekly trip to the barber shop or their usual shopping cum gossiping spree, splurging around and wasting their wive's hard earned money.

I will be branded as a husband beater and that I should be hauled up in court and slapped with violation of that ridiculous crime against men and children.

Maybe I should also slap his husband-friends a little here and a little there.

To bring them to their senses.

Not Steve though.

Steve is hot and has a cute butt.

Maybe I should check on my man's phone for Steve's number.

So, our usual problematic and drama-filled household goings-on continued for weeks and weeks.

I will hear him crying in bed at nights, ranting about my rumored affair with his friend Steve because he found a used condom in my bag which was obviously not his puny size, disturbing a woman's much needed rest after her long tiring day at work.

The way these stay home husbands investigate will shame even the FBI.

I told him I just happened to pick that used condom up outside of my car while I was driving on the highway late at night and planned on throwing it later in a proper trash bin because I care about the environment but the neighbor's dog snatched my bag away and I totally forgot.

Who would not believe such a plausible explanation?

These men are so not sensitive to my loss, seriously.

That bag is Louis Vuitton. 

I guess he had just enough when Steve showed him a video of the two of us in a hot sex scene.

Steve had become so clingy as of late and wanted me for himself.

Why do these men like making things so complicated?

Are wives not allowed to have a little fling from time to time?

At least, it should have crossed my Drama Queen's mind that despite the affair, it's to him I still come home at nights. 

Besides, I just learned of late it was Steve who is my boss's husband.

So not messing with that anymore.

I had a drink with my wife-friends in a bar and told them everything.

They were totally disgusted with those two men.

What I did is the natural and only thing to do, given the circumstances.

Besides, everyone of them knows Steve is a perpetual tease, he deserved what he got.

They told me to flatly deny everything and say the video was rigged somehow.

Then with Visine tears on my eyes, go to my husband for forgiveness.

Those homemakers love that, apparently.

Yeah, I guess that would work.

Our married blissful life reached its second year.

I am not quite sure exactly when.

Maybe the night I got flowers from him?

Flowers. What a waste of my hard earned money.

He still queens over the household chores, getting fatter and uglier each passing day.

The indiscretions of the past year totally in the past.

Thanks to those Asian drama soap.

It legitimized amnesia as quite contagious. 

I am still bored.

Maybe a night with wife-friends at that new strip joint would do me a world of good.

I heard they have a new sexy star with a cute butt.