HOW DO you placate a fuming wife?
I did flowers, dessert and jewelry last time. It got me a hot night in bed, but that quickly fizzled out the next morning when Harriet and I fought. Again. Over… what? I can't even remember now. All I remember is the bitterness I felt. The frustration. The exhaustion.
Does it even matter what goes wrong? All Harriet wants to do is blame me for it. My wife refuses to take responsibility for her own actions.
I sigh loudly as I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. I'd much rather be with Ashley right now, romancing her over a glass of wine and a prime rib steak at a nice restaurant. I prefer tender conversations that always end in laughter. Strappy heels that slide against mine under the table. Fingers that run up my thighs. I'd much rather soft lips on my neck and legs wrapped around my waist.
