A “concerned” husband

John was shocked, to say the least, when he sat down on the couch after another tough day in the courtroom. He found himself face-to-face with his wife’s fabulous tits pressed into an anime shirt and a pair of jeans, and in between those huge globes was a Blue Moon with an orange slice.

“Wha... wh... ummm... what?”

“You texted me you had a hard day at work, and it’s always helpful to bring someone a beer when they’ve had a hard day,” she said as she sat beside him on the couch, reaching into her school bag to retrieve her laptop to get to work on her different lesson plans. Of course, they were rather hectic, as each one was tailored to appeal to the dumbest student in each class since she never believed herself above her students. That meant her remedial class was going to be working on more basic material, like the name of the country they lived in and what system of power ran it. Of course, that information was clear to her right now, but part of the beauty of teaching for Mrs. Laucella was the brain's adaptability to change depending on which class she was in.

“And the outfit was supposed to make me laugh?” John said, smiling but also genuinely confused why his strict and proper partner was dressing like an alternative teenager and bringing him a beer like a Stepford wife.

“Well,” she said, “no, but it might. This is just how my students are dressing, and I would never dress like I am above them because that is not good teacher etiquette. I always want to be as helpful as possible.”

Something was off, and John knew it. Something he had learned in law school was to pay attention to every word, as each one carried with it a certain level of importance. In this case, that word seemed to be "helpful," as if everything in her brain was being reframed by that one single word.

“Marianne,” he said, “I’m stressed out, and when someone is stressed out, it is really helpful to give them a foot massage.”

“A foot massage? Can’t it wait until I’m done with this lesson?”

But he had already started taking off his shoes. If this worked, he would be convinced and know the truth: that his wife had been affected by some sort of magic that made her want to be very helpful. As he watched her thumbs dig into the soles of his feet, he knew it was true. All he could hope for was that he had figured this out before her students did. Of course, he would have to find a time to tell his wife eventually, but for now, he let his head rest on their recliner and took a long swig of his beer.