There’s a new kind of cheating. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news if you’d only just come to terms with the fact that, yes, your girlfriend does consider it cheating if you Snapchat your balls to random chicks.
This new kind of infidelity is less sinister but it is plaguing more and more couples as the years go on.
I’ll set the scene; your partner is at work and you’ve decided to take a little “you time”. You’ve showered and put the dirty track pants back on, making the shower basically pointless. While soaping your balls you remembered how good it feels to have a day off and within a few minutes were cumming all over your girlfriends expensive Raspberry Mocha Root-Boosting Shampoo. You’ve had breakfast and lunch already – both meals consisting of cereal – and you sit down on the couch. Flicking through the channels there are reruns of Oprah (ladies crying), Ellen (ladies screaming) or the View (nothing but white noise).
Here to save the day is the Downtown Abbey box set that your mom gave you for Christmas. You watched the first episode to be nice but admit it, now you’re totally hooked on the intrigue, the cheating, the revenge, and those suits are actually pretty dope. One problem: your girlfriend’s hooked too and so far you’ve watched every episode together… “Does she even like the show?” You try to convince yourself otherwise… “I mean, she didn’t even pause it that time she went to get more Cheetos and a real fan would have paused…”
You delicately take the disc out using your t-shirt as a barrier as to not leave any prints and pop it in the player. Adrenaline surges through you, are you really going to go through with this? With shaking hands you press play. How can something so wrong feel so right? Cue the theme music. “She loves that theme,” you wistfully recall as the last pang of guilt is drowned out by one of the Crawleys’ pompous voices.
And like that, it’s over. You feel so dirty. Frenzied, you pop the disc, break it in half and throw the shattered pieces in your neighbor’s trash like a crazed man. You get back in the shower and try to wash off the shame, rocking back and forth repeating, “I’m no better than Vera Bates, no better than Vera…”
Coming to your senses, you realize you now need a new DVD and the rest of your relaxing day off is spent shopping and grooming the scene of the crime. You smear a little of that orange Cheetos shit on the new cover and break the hinges of the case replicating the original. The next few hours are spent in a daze as the intro music plays over and over again.
Your girlfriend comes home, the moment of truth. You fumble with your words. “Hey… hey, wanna watch that show you like?” you say with a creepy scared look on your face. She coolly replies, “It’s ok babe, you catch up, I already watched this episode when you went to your poker night.”