I have a brand new friend-of-a-friend-type-friend who sometimes confides in me about her unsatisfactory marriage. That’s no problem, I’ve heard it all, especially in this land where most people still believe that even a bad marriage is better than no marriage at all. Nothing wrong with that.
Anyway, according to her, hubby is something of a wastrel who can’t hold down a job for more than a few months at a time, and regularly racks up debt betting on the horses, whereas she’s a university lecturer who works at three different teaching jobs to support their little family and pay off the money he owes.
To me, she seems like such a superbly capable woman, and he seems like such a tosser, that the other day I curiously asked why she stays with him. Her reply: “Well, he’s great with our kids … and the sex is so damned good.” I nearly fell out of my seat with laughter! Imagine one of my stuffy Kobe matrons saying such a thing! No, you can’t imagine it, and neither can I.
Unfortunately for me, that very night we all went out to a restaurant for my birthday party (well, one of them), and the husband happened to be sitting adjacent to me. All I could do was stare at him – paunchy, balding, and very shy – as he quietly sipped his beer and think: so you’re a sex machine, are you!
How I wish she’d never told me that.