My Wife is a Work of Art

It all started with an innocent comment.

My wife, who is a piece of art come to life, was dressing for dinner one evening. She emerged from the closet holding up the little black dress I adore so much, saying, “This?”

And I - not thinking - replied, “You think it still fits?”

She cried that night. There was no dinner. I tried to comfort her, but there was nothing I could say.

The next morning, she made the appointment. A week later, they stapled her stomach. And within a month she was thinner than she’d ever been.

She looked amazing, though I’d never asked her to lose weight.

A short time later, however, as she primped herself in front of the bathroom mirror, she said, “Do you like this shade of lipstick?”

“Your lips are a bit thin for that color, don’t you think?” I said.

Again, I would never suggest that my wife change a thing - she is perfect and I love her as God intended her to be - but off she went for lip-filler injections.

She asked about the curve of her nose. I gave her my honest opinion. Too broad. But the work that followed was imprecise - a second-rate doctor perhaps. Now it was too narrow. Then too pointed.

They shaved and shaped and whittled and I must remind you, I was perfectly happy with the old nose.

“My hips!” she said. “Too wide?” I evaded the question - for you see, I love my perfect wife - but eventually I was cornered into an answer. Off she went.

The breasts went one way. Her lovely bottom went another. They broke her feet to bind them - small and tidy like a geisha. Her fingernails were twisted off like bottle caps - replaced with shiny, new synthetic nails that never chipped.

“And you like me better this way?” she’d ask and of course I’d say yes, because she is my perfect wife and I am a modern, supportive husband.

One day, in a fit of nostalgia, I gazed upon our wedding photo and said, “Dear, you really were such a beauty.” Clearly it was a compliment, but still she cried, fixated only on the word were.

She asked what specifically was better then as opposed to now, and I gave her a short list, because I respect my wife and I honor her with my honesty. Off she went again, as determined as I’ve ever seen her.

A short time later, she was delivered to me in a polycarbonate cube filled with amniotic fluid. The skin had been removed (too spotty) and most of the bones (too heavy). A few of the less aesthetically pleasing organs had been extracted as well. What was left? My beautiful wife, of course. Perfect as the day I’d met her. She eats protein gel for sustenance and her eyes have long since dissolved, but she’s my girl and I wouldn’t have her change a thing.

Submitted June 11, 2019 at 05:16AM by WinsomeJesse http://bit.ly/2IAtikZ