Sitting on a wooden shelf emblazoned “1994”; while at housekeeping she flips its dusty pages with moving lips yet inaudible she reads to her fill.
“Is that me – fat and shrew?”
“No, no,” he assured her.
“Then who is it?”
“It’s my Ex”
“And who’s this low-life slut you always meet at a street corner and have a romp with in the back of your Toyota SUV?”
“Oh, that’s the mother of my children”
“Don’t you remember how we got together?”
Curiosity has a nasty way of exposing pretensions. When you read someone else’s secret you get what you deserve.