Growing up you were like family. I would run into my Paw Paw's office and you would stuff me and my brothers and sisters up with ice cream, candy, and pop and send us on our way with sticky hands and faces much to Paw Paw's dismay. You know I adore you. My entire family is eternally grateful for all 50 years that you've given us.
However, your husband is a big fat perv. It's really weird to speak to you when he's in the room because I feel his stares. His song's he makes up with my name, "Amaya the sweet papaya" really is disgusting. Not only is he tone deaf, but he can't carry a tune. When he raises his eyebrows to me, I want to vomit. Does he really think I would ever even look at him in that light? I like older men, but 65 is a little too old for me. I know you see him stare at my chest even when my arms are folded tightly across my chest. I'm not only grossed out but I'm ashamed.
Your husband brings back a lot of uneasy feelings and memories for me. I know you are a remarkable woman, but forgive me when I cut our conversations short when he suddenly appears.
