Secret Lives Of Husbands And Wives Read Online Free PDF Page B

shoots our way. “She chaired a decent Valentine’s dance, but let’s face it, her handling of the Easter egg hunt was a travesty! She only dyed three thousand eggs—and in solid colors! No decoupage, no glitter, no tie-dye—nothing. I don’t have to tell you how disappointed I was. And the kids found them all in eight minutes flat. How anticlimactic.” She winces. “You, on the other hand, pulled off the July Fourth picnic with aplomb. The fireworks were spectacular. Those red, white, and blue wieners—sheer genius!”
    “Why, thank you.” There’s no way I’m going to tell her thatTanner egged Mickey into putting blue food coloring into some of the pots of boiling hot dogs. That would blow her illusion of my creative flair to smithereens.
    “In all fairness, though, Tammy had two projects to your one.” She goes in for the close. “So, how about if you take on one more? Something easy, just to cinch it.”
    I brace myself: for all I know, she’s sending me to collect the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West.
    “No biggie. Something simple, like running the Thanksgiving food drive.” Margot smiles. “All you need to do is inspire the community to collect a few thousand cans. A cakewalk! Not that you’ll even get close to breaking my record: 2,018 cans, if I remember correctly. Of course, if you do, the presidency is yours for the taking. So, you think you’re up for that?”
    I’m too tipsy to say no. Besides, the presidency is nearly within my grasp.
    I wonder if it comes with a tiara. . . . 
    7:53 p.m.
    “Whoa, Tammy, look at those muscles! Flex ’em for me, babe, go on.”
    Tammy accommodates Ted’s demand by taking off the sheer blouse she wears over her tight tank top and curling a taut, sinewy arm. When he rewards her with a wolf whistle, she feigns bashfulness by covering her eyes.
    But no one is fooled. This is why she curls ten-pound barbells in twelve reps, four times each arm: so that other women’s husbands will admire her.
    Including mine. I hate it when Ted flirts.
    It wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t so good at it. Or if he only flirted with me.
    But no, that would be too much to ask.
    Unlike some husbands who feel awkward in a room full of women, Ted loves being the cock of the walk. And because he knows I am completely and utterly assured of his loyalty, he openly flirts with my friends.
    He does it with a certain smile on his face. You know the one. It promises more than he can deliver. I know this firsthand.
    But Tammy doesn’t—until she sees the loving manner in which he unconsciously strokes my hair while complimenting Brooke on her last tennis game.
    As Tammy follows the other women out the door, she sighs in my ear, “You are
sooooooo
lucky.”
    Whereas she is not. Her Charlie’s bank account may be humongous, but his sperm bank is all but empty.
    This gives her something else to whine about.
    It also gives her the audacity to graze up against Ted on her way out the door.
    If she thinks I didn’t see her, she’s crazy. Okay, now I
have
to be president. Just so I can kick her off the board.
    9:44 p.m.
    Vixen . . . I am a vixen . . . a sexy, vibrant vixen . . . a sultry—
    “Hon, do me a favor and move your head a little to the right, okay? Otherwise you block the TV—What the
hell
is wrong with Kobe? That’s the second foul shot he’s missed!”
    I sigh and open one eye in time to watch the odious Spurs race down the court with the ball. For the past ten minutes I’ve been straddling Ted’s cock—backward, froggy style—in the hope that all my gyrating will be just as riveting to him as the antics of his beloved home team.
    As if.
When will I ever learn that a close game between the Lakers and the Spurs brings him to orgasm faster than anything I can do to him?
    A TV set in the master bedroom makes it convenient for Ted to watch basketball, but it has had a marked effect on our love life. His answer to this is to suggest that we