The Instagram Husband

Day 3

We’ve been at lunch for 45 minutes now. She still hasn’t said anything. Aside from when she told me to duck my head because I was casting a shadow over her food. God forbid I block the light in yet another photo.

“Just for a second,” she murmured, squinting at her phone.

She pinched at the screen, then tapped rapidly, the camera snapping away.

I bent my head down to my plate, inhaling the deconstructed bruschetta she’d ordered me as I waited for her to finish.

We should’ve had a nice day. This morning I’d ordered us room service, but our breakfast went cold while she ordered me around, taking a myriad of photos of her, sitting in front of our breakfast with her ass cheeks poking out beneath her robe, making sure I got the sun in the right angle so she’d look extra ethereal. And no doubt she was – is – beautiful, but it’s lost among the filters and the saccharine.

 

As I squatted over my lunch, feeling more and more subhuman, my phone beeped. I slid it across the table towards me.

A notification from Instagram: she’s posted a photo of her food.

“At lunch with my babe @instagramhusband #truelove”

I looked up at her in disbelief. True love? What a fucking joke.

Double-tapping the picture, I typed back:

“I love you too, babe.”

Guess the joke’s on me.

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