The other woman

Yesterday, as we laid in bed watching TV, my husband told me about how he got mad at his cousin because his son leaned against his car. He told me how he was so furious at him for possibly scratching his perfectly black loaded SS Impala that they made up a reason to leave.
You see, my husband is obsessed with his car. He rubs her down every night- I barely get a back rub unless I offer money. He would go without food first to get the expensive waxes to polish her and then he asks why I need to spend $20 on my powder base. He whispers sweet nothings under her hood and then whispers to me, Honey, when was the last time you shaved your legs?
The other woman, she is.
But, he’s been frustrated lately because he can’t figure out why scratch marks keep popping up even though he takes care of his precious girl so much.
That reminds me, I need to go out to the garage.
Now, where did I put that nail file?
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