Mr. & Mrs.

Mr. Hoffman absentmindedly ran his finger along the edge of the record player, savoring the hard, sharp edges, as he watched his wife daintily drape a fur shawl over her slender shoulders. He stood leaning against the banister with a small smile on his handsome face as Mrs. Hoffman made the final touches to her hair, makeup and outfit, preparing herself for their night out at a jazz bar. She softly reapplied her red lipstick and chose a pair of matching velvet heels, and added another dusting of powder on her cheeks and around her sapphire blue eyes. She was an absolutely stunning woman, with ivory skin and wavy blonde hair. She was always well made and spoke with a quiet grace that drew her listener in. Mr. Hoffman loved his wife, and he loved how they looked together. They were the definition of a striking couple. He recalled the days when they first met. She reminded him of the young deer he saw on his yearly hunting trips. Elegant, with innocent eyes. Never at ease, in an endearing way. He never thought he’d be happy spending the rest of his life with one woman, until he met her. To him, she was beautiful in every way.

Mrs. Hoffman noticed her husband from the corner of her eye, and she once again felt an all too familiar sense of rage and hatred clench her heart. She loathed the look in his eye, the look of a man madly in love, who felt he owned her. She busied herself with her makeup and appearance. She added another thick layer of foundation powder to the black and blue bruises around her cheek. She could barely keep her shaking hand still as she applied her red lipstick. Red was her favorite colour; bold, meaningful and passionate. Mrs. Hoffman wore this colour when she needed to feel confident. Like those glamourous women she’d only read about and watched on the television set, who murdered their dopey husbands.

image from: www.the50shousewife.com