Why Would You Read This

Romance is dead? (Part 1)

One day, my husband came home from work and told me he had something important to discuss.

"I have something important to tell you, my love" he said.

So I made him tea and we sat on our porch, overlooking the sparkling blue ocean.

"I have to kill you." He said.

"Wut." I responded.

"Yeah, sorry. I met someone else and I've never felt this way about anyone before. You must understand, we live in the sixteenth century and divorce hasn't been invented yet. I have no choice but to murder you in order to be with my beloved."

"Wait, what's a divorce?" I query.

"Exactly," he said, sipping his tea.

He wants to off me? Well that's not going to happen. I simply refuse to be killed like a common whore.

To his credit though, he tried many things.

First there was the snake he put in my shoes, which was such an amateur move.

Then he released a swarm of bees in our home, which I thought was good in theory but extremely poorly executed.

A while after our lovely talk on the porch, he put a hefty amount of poison in my wine. I looked directly into his eyes and drank it.

"Damn it, why won't you die?" He cried in frustration. He looked positively miserable, weeks of effort with nothing to show for it.

I shrugged. "I'm sorry my dear, but you're so bad at murder."

"I just feel like you're not even trying!" He exploded. "You're my wife, you have to do what I want, since women's rights haven't been invented yet."

"What are women's...never mind that's probably not important."

I strolled off to care for my bountiful garden.

—————————————————————————————————————

Months have passed and I am still alive. My poor husband was falling apart. He was barely a shell of the man he once was.

I actually felt quite sorry for him. The poor fool, he deserved to actually succeed at something for once.

And that's when I decided to fake my death so he can feel better about himself. What can I say, my love language is acts of service.

It wasn't hard. He's actually really stupid. I lay on our bed perfectly still, breathing as little as possible and got our friends and neighbors to gather around me and light candles, keeping vigil over my "dead" body. Of course I hadn't put a lot of thought into the whole plan, so I had no idea what I was going to do when the time came for me to be buried. Perhaps I shall get my minions to fill the coffin with rocks. And then I shall go far away, and perhaps find a new husband. A hotter one. Oh yes.