The Lost Wives

My wife and I were having one of them bonding days, where we ate lunch in a café… and of course it’s me who pays! Then we strolled along the street to look in all the shops. Now the bug has bit her, this window-shopping never stops. It’s “Look at this!” Or “Look at that!” And “Isn’t that so cheap!” Of course I’m going “Yes dear!” As I follow like a sheep, when in reality me thoughts are on being somewhere better, so she can shop with all her might, and I can just forget her. Then when she mentioned ‘Target’ she must have seen me shake, “That joint’s fifty thousand metres square,” I said for goodness sake! But to addicted shopaholics, they don’t care who bears the brunt… “If you don’t want to shop with me then just wait out the front!” I waited… and I waited... I reckon that three hours is enough, so with blood pressure rising and me language getting rough, I began the dreaded searching up and down the hundred aisles, and ignored the “Can I help you?” Or the shop assistant smiles. I stormed past the ladies underwear and then the hats and dresses. The perfume and the footwear aisles kept adding to me stresses; then I met a bloke close to the lipsticks with worry on his face; “I’ve been searching for an hour… me wife's lost in this place!” I replied “Well that’s coincidence! Mine’s been gone for hours now, I’ve searched north to south, east to west and you know somehow, I reckon we should join our forces, because united we could strike, and by the way” I said to him, “What does your wife look like?” “Well” he said, “She’s tall and tanned, her body shape’s an hour glass. Her legs are long, hair is blonde, and she’s got a gorgeous… bottom. So what does your wife look like?” And without a second’s pause, “Bugger mine!” I said to him… “Let’s just go and look for yours!”