Title: Optional

Text: This is your great winter romance, isn't it? Your last roar of passion before you settle into your emeritus years. Is that what's left for me? Is that my share? She gets the winter passion, and I get the dotage? What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to sit at home knitting and purling while you slink back like some penitent drunk? I'm your wife, damn it. And if you can't work up a whit of passion for me, the least I require is respect and allegiance. I hurt. Don't you understand that? Each paragraph will be a test.

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