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Call Me “Sweetums” Again and No Sex for You!

It hath come to pass that I am madeth aware, yet again, of a marital sex epiphany. Henry will, from time to ignominious time, refer to me as, and I quote, “SWEETUMS.” Sweetums bakes things. She crochets tea cozies. Cats adorn her. Her vagina resembles the dry, sun-baked, inhospitable terrain that greeted Clint Eastwood in The Good, …

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