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You had the good fortune to marry one of the few genuinely amazing people in this world. He is artistic, smart, brilliant, loyal, and so charismatic it's almost criminal. Before you came along, there wasn't a day that went by I wasn't amazed at how exceptional he was. You are married to someone who could have had an impact on this world, and now he sits at a desk all day, at a job that in no way uses any of his potential—a job that he hates—so he can be supportive of your self-indulgent endeavors.

Even more disappointing is that you can't be bothered to make a couple hours a week to fuck your husband. I've got an idea: Why don't you drop a couple credit hours and pick up a few wife hours and take care of your fucking husband? Remember him? He's the one you promised to put in front of everything else when you were wearing the most hideous white dress I have seen. Ever. I try as best I can to pretend you don't exist, but it's becoming difficult because my friendship with him is suffering because of your neglect. I had to tell him I couldn't speak to him for a while because I feel so awful when I turn down fucking him every single day so he won't make a mistake that will ruin his marriage. But so help me, if you don't pull your head out of your self-absorbed ass, I can't promise I'm going to continue telling him no. I know you don't believe in God, but you should be thankful I do, because my faith is the only thing that keeps me from telling him he can fuck me any way he wants to.