I keep saying I'd like my husband to find his next wife before I die -- I'm 18 years older, and I just might go before him. Or not. -- because I can't stand the thought of him being 60 or 70 and alone to face that. And who's going to spoil him the way I do? Rub his feet? Clip his toenails? Bring him tea? Microwave his meals? Cuddle him and say "Mwaiwage. Mwaiwage is wot bwings us togevver today. Wuv, TRU wuv. . . "
But yeh, twingy. Hope my more generous nature wins out. And I hope she likes to cook and clean and give all the blow-jobs I keep promising him that I never get around to.