Rent a Husband: For those odd jobs that just pile up

For many years, there was a “Hot Salt” knob that sat on my Grandparents mantelpiece above the fireplace. Granddaddy I was told, ‘liberated’ it off the Cunard Cruise Lines Queen Mary. Uncle Pete Tharp beat me to it after Nana passed away, along with the painting that hung in her bedroom. I told Mother to put my name on both those items, but it seems Mom’s mind was elsewhere at the time.

For some reason this evening, I am thinking about “Hot Salt” and relationships. I wish I could cry. I really do. There is only so much compassion I have to share these days. I am not as close with my family as I used to be and my circle of friends is limited to the internet unfortunately. So being single, even though I have lost 30 pounds is not helping me get a life and turn my life around. I have been in the same unhappy city for over ten years and it’s been miserable. I can count on one hand the number of years that were worth smiling about since I have been here. I have been abused and treated like shit. Be that as it may, shit happens. No point in making it worse than it is.

I have no home to maintain with tools, or a yard, or a lawn. So there is no need to ‘Rent a Husband’ for any reason. As lonely as I am, I am no whore, so fucking for its own sake is not on my list of priorities. I may be human, but I fully resent any association with animalistic behavior. I will leave that to those who are married, living together or divorcing. That is what a newspaper is for after all.


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