Maths taught me how to share my husband

When his mind is idle, he thinks of her.
—What are you thinking about?
—Maths.

If he’s with her, he loses track of time.
—So late to get home, why?
—Maths.

She wants long periods for herself.
—Why are you going away for the weekend?
—Maths.

—Why are you going to Brazil, again?
—Maths.

She doesn’t like the same things I do.
—You didn’t leave the hotel room, why?
—Maths.

She requires him in the middle of the night.
—You left our bed at midnight, why?
—Maths.

She texts him at the movies.
And he writes back.
—Maths.

Math’s a richer lover than I am.
—Who’s going to pay for that Brazil ticket, then?
—Maths.
—And Korea?
—Maths.
—And Denmark?
—Maths.
—And Boston?
—Maths.
—Could I go?
—Can you pay it?
—No.
—Then you can’t.

She’s a powerful lover, Maths.
She gave him a job.
She gave him fame.
She gives him money.
She gets him friends.

I’m just a girl.
And she… she’s Maths.