A tissue of lies
Not surprisingly, after the minimalist start to January, it didn’t take long into Feb for the box of tissues on my bedside table to run dry. The empty box told a barely spoken truth.
Then it seemed the only time I had to myself was in the shower for a couple of weeks, so it wasn’t an issue, and there was always the box my Wife keeps on Her side of the bed on the couple of occasions that I needed to wipe my spent dick whilst She was in the shower.
This Monday promised a little more opportunity to spend a moment looking after myself – sit back, watch a movie, and relax. After breakfast, I picked up a fresh box of tissues from the store cupboard and headed upstairs.
The phone rang.
I tossed the unopened box onto the bed and answered the call.
All of a sudden I had things to do.
The box lay on the bed for the rest of the day.
The night before She had emptied the bins and taken the recycling out for the next morning’s collection. This included emptying the ejaculate encrusted evidence that filled the waste paper basket by my side of the bed. I can’t conceive that She couldn’t have noticed how full it was, nor, considering Her recent acknowledgement, that She didn’t see the truth buried within the pile of screwed up tissues.
This Monday, I didn’t get around to moving the fresh box of tissues to my bedside table. But later that evening, after She had returned from work, I couldn’t help notice She had moved them from the bed.
The next morning, I went looking for them. There was no reason to think She had hidden them as such, but I couldn’t find the box anywhere. I searched high and low.
I had to do the week’s grocery shop.
I added tissues to the list.
And an hour later I put a new box beside the bed.
I tore it open and dropped the oval piece of card into the bin.
Propping my pillow up against the bedstead, I took my smartphone out of my pocket and opened a movie file.
I unbuttoned my jeans, sat back … and relaxed.
15min later, the waste paper bin on my side of the bed revealed the same old truth.