Linda had nearly had it. Her husband Mark was late once more—third time this week—off taking part in golf like he didn’t have a spouse ready at house with chilly dinner and warmer mood.
So she determined to show him a lesson.
She scribbled a dramatic word and left it on the dresser:
“I can’t do that anymore. I’m leaving. Don’t come on the lookout for me.”
Then she crawled below the mattress to see his response when he discovered it.
A couple of minutes later, she heard the entrance door open. Footsteps. The fridge door. A drink being poured. Then… silence. He walked into the bed room, picked up the word—and paused.
She held her breath.
Then he chuckled. CHUCKLED.
She peeked out and noticed him seize his cellphone.
“Hey babe,” he mentioned, “She lastly did it. Packed her baggage and every part. I’ll be over in 10. Champagne or wine? Oh—and put on that crimson factor I like.”
He hung up, whistling, and walked out the door with a skip in his step.
Linda was FURIOUS.
Her blood boiling, she crawled out from below the mattress, able to scream and throw each golf membership he owned out the window.
However then she noticed the word.
He had written one thing below her message:
“Good strive. I can see you below the mattress. Additionally, we’re out of milk.”
