THE WIND PHONE | GRIEF AND LOSS | RELATIONSHIPS
To My Husband’s Mistress: To You, I Surrender
Litany of the defeated wife
You are a young and a pretty damsel, you satisfy him — I cannot compete with you.
I am a middle-aged, bulgy wife — worn out and tired from child-rearing and house chores. Unlike you who has so much time in the vanity mirror, I cannot remember the last time I had a long, good shower.
You are funny and fresh, cheerful and sweet — I cannot compete with you.
I have piles of laundry, a messy kitchen, assignments to tutor, and groceries to mind. I cannot recall the last time I cracked a joke, gave and received a compliment, or sang a tune running for errands in town while worrying about that nasty flu of my daughter.
You make him feel good, with you he is a Hero and a God — I cannot compete with you.
I only remind him of the bills to pay, that school principal he has to meet, the garbage bin he always forgets, and the club receipt I found in his wallet after a drinking spree with his buddies.
You obey him blindly, submit to him completely, follow him wholeheartedly — I cannot compete with you.
I am the wife who speaks up, the woman who wants discussions. I am the partner who disagrees, the bitch who wants to see plans, and the villain who expects equality and compromise.
So to you, I surrender.
I yield, I concede. You win, I lose.
He is all yours, the coveted prize — to fend for, to tend to, to ravish and to devour.
He is all yours, to endure and to suffer.
