For women to note: how to get rid of a rival.
The midlife crisis is a cruel thing. On different people it hits differently, but on men for some reason (at least from my observations of others) it always targets one point - erotic.
In other words, the gray in the beard is the rage in the rib. Forty-year-old men begin to abandon their single wives and rush after younger girls.
My husband stayed longer than others. We all know each other, and we are still together. However, there comes a moment when ON appears on the horizon, and a crack occurs in a reliable family fortress.
She is a young fifa we met at work (we have a joint business with my husband) and who thinks she’s “smarter, brown and white.” And here this fifa begins to roll to my husband and so on, and so on: all kinds of conversations there, smiles and other signs of attention. The husband still holds, but I feel that each time the crack becomes wider and wider, and soon the fortress will surrender.
Making a scandal to my husband is not a matter: first, I have no evidence, and secondly, it is not in my position to shed tears and pull out my hair (which, by the way, is already starting to shed).
But against the beauty of youth there is a great power - life's wisdom accumulated over the years, and I come to mind a brilliant idea.
When we meet with a potential opponent again, I so unobtrusively scroll to her and say about the following:
“My husband and I almost fought yesterday.”
She has a pretense of confusion in her eyes.
“You understand,” I continued, “my husband and I love sex for three. We and the business opened up to make it easier to meet new people and invite them to bed.”
Misunderstanding is replaced by a light fear.
“We have been silent about you. My husband likes you, but you don’t want me at all. Understand me right: you’re a very cute and smart woman, but I don’t feel any erotic attraction to you at all.”
The girl begins to retreat.
“I don’t know,” I say again, “if you gave me a chance to get to know you more closely, I might have changed my mind.”
The girl scratches her nails, something scratch on the subject that her women do not do too.
A few days later, during dinner, her husband said, “Lena was somewhat strange today. I smiled at her, and she looked at me like I was a perverse.”