she must be the perfect 1950's housewife, wearing her rogue lipstick upon her chalky foundation. every weekend, your wife cleans out the closets filled with the skeletons you bring back home. i wonder if her motherly instinct kicks in, if the warning sirens ever go off in her head when you come home smelling like a one night stand. i wonder if she ever sleeps in the same bed as you, and i wonder how much the kids gather of your relationship with him from arguments behind closed bedroom doors.
i wonder how much of her smile is false advertisement. i wonder when she will finally have enough of his white lies.