He entered stealthily, trying in vain not to wake his slumbering wife.
"Honey, you're home awful late," she mumbled sleepily.
"um..." her husband tripped over words, "I... had drinks with Bob and Greg after work!"
"At Madame White Trash's Massage Parlor?" a bedside lamp switched on. "Jesus Christ, DARLING, your clothes reek of Obsession. My allergies from that perfume give me hives!"
Thinking quickly, but unwisely, the frazzled spouse blurted, "I'll get some Benadryl."
An alarm clock whizzed by , narrowly missing "Sweetie Pie's" cranium.
Their marital front door quietly closed; another hormonally driven decision creating one more American statistic.
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