My Husband

by Maud Ventura

My husband has no name; he is my husband, he belongs to me.

Huh

they are all waiting for a man. They’re smiling, they seem active and busy, but in reality they are just killing time. I wonder whether I’m the only one to notice the universal women’s waiting room.

“I’ve never done anything but wait outside the closed door.”

Is it bizarre to feel tenderness toward my husband’s dandruff?

Yes you fucking freak

September 11, too.

Girl please

For years my husband has called me “sweetheart” while I yearn to be a femme fatale.

Honestly real

To each his own obsessions. For me, it’s my cell phone. I’ve promised myself a hundred times I will stop putting it on the table during meals; I know it’s not healthy, but I can’t help it.

ME WHEN IM AN IPAD BABY AND ADDICTED TO THE GRAM YESSSSS HAHAHAH