Mr Integrity
You lie alone awake on your exotic bed that is of a standard football pitch in size; that is said to be the finest from Milan, and is said to be lesser than a feather in weight when you sleep on it. But it always feels like a rock every morning you wake alone on it, especially since you mistakenly relegate your wife to the kitchen and other rooms in the village when gibbering with some of your distant friends and it gets to your her hearing. You miss her cuddling every night and wish she will forgive you in the privacy of your bedroom without demanding that you bend a knee for her in public over your unruly remark about her in public.