So, imagine you’ve been married a while and the blush has worn off. Bathroom doors remain open throughout the performance. Your daily Happy Hour becomes the Hour of Dread as you postpone returning home, day after day. You don’t even bother with hall sex because it just seems like too much effort.
Then you get to thinking to yourself, “Self, I think I’m going to go get some nookie on the side. I’m going to go down to a brothel. I’m going to pay some stranger to get jiggy with me.”
Wouldn’t it just be a bitch to find that the hooker you just hired is your wife?