I don’t trust that my wife truly loves me. The entire relationship seems suspect to me. I often question what her ulterior motives are. I mean, have you seen what she looks like? Stunning. Then I must ask, have you seen what I look like? Needless to say, I leave something to be desired. And when I say “something,” I mean everything. I don’t know what it is she’s after with me because I haven’t much to offer. Money is scarce, notoriety is limited to nerds and prostitutes, and my looks are, as I said, sideshow tent at best. So what is it?
Recently I suggested we increase our life-insurance policies. She seemed to get excited by the idea. “That’s a great idea,” she said. “Is it?” I asked, “Why?” “In case something happens.” “Something? Like what? You kill me in my sleep?” She ignored that last part. Or maybe I didn’t say it out loud, only thought it in my head. Ever since she “fell in love with me” (which was instantaneous, since I am such a MEGA CATCH), I have been giving her little tests to see how deep her love really is. I’ll force my top teeth far past my bottom ones in an ugly, _Simpsons_-character overbite, folding my upper lip up to touch my nose and my lower one into my mouth, and I’ll ask her, “Would you still love me if I looked like this?” She lies and says, “Yes.” Sometimes I pull both of my arms into my t-shirt and stick just my folded elbows back into the arm holes for a double Def Leppard and ask her if she’d still love me if I couldn’t play the drums anymore. She reminds me I am unable to play the drums now, with two arms.
On occasion I have removed my undergarments in her presence, pushed the head of my member into its shaft, making it completely disappear and look like some Pan’s Labyrinth monster, and I ask her, “If my pee-pee had no head and thus no pee hole and the pee had to find a different way out, maybe through my nose or my ears, and I peed everywhere, uncontrollably, and you always had to clean up my pee and change my clothes because I kept soaking my shirts in pee, would you still love me?” She always says yes but I wonder if she listens to the question all the way through. Of if she stops listening after I take my pants off and start speaking. So I ask her again, “If my pee-pee had no head and thus no pee hole and the pee had to find a different way out, maybe through my nose or my ears, and I peed everywhere, uncontrollably, and you always had to clean up my pee and change my clothes because I kept soaking my shirts in pee, would you still love me?” She thinks she is funny and says she didn’t hear me and can I please repeat the question. “Don’t be cute.” I tell her. “I’m the funny one in this relationship. I’m being serious. Answer the question.”