When she was new to his household, and he went out, he took pleasure in saying wife, as in ‘my wife,’ ‘the wife,’ ‘our wives,’ as much as possible, to excess even, this tall, gangly red-haired stick of a man, who lived to 50 without having one. A wife, that is. He has one now, a consort, a determined and abrasive one, he finds, an interloper, an agent of conversion, with daughters, girls who rub him raw, displace his energy and inhale his funds, not that he spent much before the marriage. He unburdens to the forest now, finds concord there.
This story is for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge, Raw