There’s a comfy little love seat toward the back wall of Pasion del Cielo in Brickell City Center. Armchairs beside it. And this morning, while I was eating my croissant and drinking my espresso, there was an older guy on the love seat, probably in his sixties, and he was talking to a woman on the phone and he said at one point, after a long brow-pinched pause, “Just cuz you’re his wife doesn’t mean you have to do that.”
They could’ve been talking about anything. Maybe this woman’s husband wanted her to attend a work function. Maybe he wanted her to give him a massage, or he wanted her to cook dinner, or he wanted her to go to the gym at the same time he does.
But my immediate assumption is that he wants her to put something up his ass.
Which, it’s true, just cuz you’re his wife doesn’t mean you have to.