I wasn't looking for trouble. My husband wasn't around, and something enticing snagged my glance. Although I knew better, my curiosity was aroused.
His disarming introduction made me feel special, as if he'd chosen me from millions. I lingered on his seductive descriptions of escape from my commitments. I could stop any time, I justified. Would it be so terrible to respond? He was right; I deserved better.
I owed it to myself to seize this opportunity.
"It's the chance of a lifetime. You could be our next winner!"
I barely had time to wonder who wrote these sweepstakes letters before I was clasping the reply envelope and saying yes!
I was searching for a stamp, when I stopped. What am I doing? I thought, appalled at almost falling for the scheme. Sighing and ignoring the whispers that I was throwing away lifelong happiness and freedom, I tossed the junk mail in the trash, determined not to consider it again. Or so I thought.
Later that evening when my husband came home, our conversation began with our to-do list, then somehow death-spiraled into complaints about my "clutter tolerance" and the number of frozen pizzas we consumed. I retorted that perhaps he would prefer a maid to a lover—and that I deserved a husband who would better appreciate me.
What am I doing? The familiar words sprang from my memory of that morning. I was falling for it again. Only this time, it was more treacherous junk mail—it was the deceptive junk mail of marriage.1