The Shallows

by Holly Craig

A recently single wife sets off a chain of subconscious, unquestioned thoughts. Am I happy? Are we happy? We’re happy, aren’t we? We fuck once a month and that’s considered ‘normal’ right? I mean, who defines ‘normal’ anyway? The newspapers? Sex and the City? Normal means what’s right for us. I gave him a blowjob for his birthday, and surely that’s all that’s expected, right? After all, we have kids. And we’re married. Everyone knows that sex lessens after saying our vows and popping one out. He knows that too, doesn’t he? Although he hasn’t looked at me like I’m sexual lately. The look he gives me is the same look he gives his mother on Sunday roast night. Does he see me as someone who just cooks his dinner? No, we’re happy. Aren’t we? Those thoughts set off a conscious chain of female bullying and fables. She’s a slut. No, I heard he was really prudish. I heard she always fantasised about his best friend. Whatever, she’s a slut. She left her husband for another man when her son was only two. And he’s rich, comes from old money and his mother fucking hates her. So, she’s a gold digger. She’s a slut and a gold digger and we need to keep her away from our husbands. Why would our men want her anyway? We’re happy. But she’s a maneater. She’ll come for my hubby next.