MG is bored.
Waits for shocked gasps to subside.
MG waited many years an eternity a very very long time to get married to Him. And now that they’re married, He comes home at 7.30pm, goes to bed at 9.30pm, and leaves the house by 6.30am. In those two hours that He is awake and with MG, he watches T.V., they cuddle pointlessly on the couch, eat a dinner prepared lovingly by a shirtless MG, and then He passes out again while MG works through her frustration at turning into an ordinary haus frau by making the kitchen spotless again.
You see, while waiting that very very long time to get married to Him, MG had had all sorts of fantasies of Him coming home to her, she serving Him a hot cooked meal, and then lying in His manly muscular arms on the couch afterwards, watching mindless T.V., while they enjoyed the very fact of their being together again, inhaling the scents of each other, affectionately rubbing skin against skin and doing all those sickening sugary syrupy things that estranged-lovers-that-meet-for-the-first-time-after-eons-of-separation do.
And now? Now that MG has this fantasy in real life?
Long dramatic sigh.
As Abraham Maslow could have predicted, MG, having actualized this need of having a loving man in her bed every night, is bored with the Domestic Bliss theme, and needs something new.
And sadly for her moral fibre, MG only feels slightly guilty about feeling so, and two questions arise:
a) Where is this honeymoon period they speak of? Have we already exhausted our given quota in the dating part of our relationship?
2) Is this just the inevitable low after the high that was getting married?