She grins. “Fuck yeah, I would. That’d be hot. Does he have a big dick?”
“Anna!”
“What?”
“That’s not—I’m not going to tell you that.”
She waits.
“Pretty big,” I admit, because I’m weak and feel the need to extoll my husband’s virtues. “He’s also got those hairy, chunky thighs that I like to ride when I—”
“Yep,” she says. “That’s enough for the ol’ spank bank.”
We really do need to set boundaries.
I’M NOT worried.
I’m not.
I mean, so what if Anna and Creed had marital troubles that none of us knew about.
They’re fine now.
Many couples go to counseling.
They’re fine.
Otter and I are fine.
“How was your day?”
He grunts at me.
“Really?” I say. “That sounds lovely. Tell me more.”
He grunts again.
“Great. What else did you and Creed do?”
“Bear?”
“Yes, Otter.”
“It’s two o’clock in the morning.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, Bear.”
“Oh. Well. Go to sleep.”
He does exactly that.
Our marriage is doomed.
AND SINCE I’m not willing to let him go without a fight, I’m sitting in the dark in the kitchen, the bright screen of my laptop hurting my eyes as I scour the internet for ways to put the spark back into my marriage.
I’ve found myself on some ridiculous website that apparently offers advice that I can’t tell if is real or if is satire. It’s hurting my brain, but I can’t look away. It has thousands of self-help topics from HOW TO BE NORMAL and HOW TO EXFOLIATE YOUR LIPS and HOW TO TREAT BOTULISM IN DUCKS. I almost get distracted by that last—because how do you treat botulism in ducks?—but I’m on a mission.