I’m furious—my wife is cheating on me with a painter. I came home early, and there were traces of paint in the bed. Blue on the sheets, red on the pillow… looked like Picasso had a nervous breakdown in there.
I confronted her and she said, “Oh, it must’ve been from when I was redecorating.” Redecorating what? The bedframe of our marriage?
My friend tried to make me feel better. He goes, “Hey, man… at least it’s a painter. Creative type, sensitive hands.” I said, “Sensitive hands?! He left a paintbrush under my pillow like it was a mint at a hotel!”
Then he says, “Come on, it could be worse. Mine cheats on me with a truck.” I said, “A truck?”
He goes, “Yeah. A literal truck. Nineteen wheels of betrayal. I find diesel on the doorknob and tire tracks in the backyard. Last week, she moaned ‘Mack’ in her sleep.” I looked at him and said, “That’s enough. How about… a truck? Seriously?”
At this rate, we’re both gonna get dumped for a construction site. Next thing you know, your wife runs off with an excavator, and mine’s eloping with a guy named ‘Stucco Steve’ who specializes in drywall and disappointment.
