The townswomen are all hacking. The townsmen bid their wits and strengths to the apple orchards and timberland; they query--honestly--if their wives are fooling them. "It is just their own idiosyncrasies--petty womanly idiosyncrasies," the traveling doctor quips,"They're all full of it--full of their cycles and lack of experience." If only it were that common, the townsmen thought among each other: nonspeaking, due to their introverted masculinity (all highly unemotional, even out loud). The ladies never went that way; they were usually doting to us and our offspring! They were right. Though, the townswomen knew their husbands would lack definition in their suspicions; they always knew they would nose around, holding their britches high--hoping they would loom instead of cower (in the females' shadows, all frilly).
There is a quenching alive: the men whore themselves to different mining, timbering, and transporting companies. Their unseasoned decisions lack a certain spice (a woman's). For the beginning of each of their lives, the townswomen have always bent to their men: sexually and regularly to fit the currents of their marriages. The bills? Oh, women don't pay for those! But, they could, and, for the longest time, they thought their adherence to the children and the family home would suffice. However, the wall thickens, and the attention is slinky and dead-flowery atop the overall circadian rhythm, lacing the entire town. For the moment being, the townswomen, however, see a patchiness in their quilts-for-brains: an opportunity which blends and equalizes and godly repairs.
The footy bushes of stinky-feet flowers bloom early this Spring. It is Spring now. Inhaling one of these fore the nose could front a new era of coughs: colds which tighten into diseases. Everything would shrink and emaciate instead of swell. The wally brains of the townsmen would eventually kill their wives; the wives would settle in their strikes. The doctor would be wally too, idiosyncrasies of women, bah! "The condition they're in now is simply pretend!" The townsmen continued hoarding all their attention in the corners of their workplaces until the diseases and the bushes died with their wives, at the end of Spring. The mining town continues living without the females. They did not even care to vote: it deviated from their current problems associated with seasonal working conditions and quotas. The president and the Congress wouldn't improve shit. The eldest daughters and female nuances to the little town eventually took the past wives' places. The mining town continues living with females. And, the females were things.
And, a manly tear never fell: a lacking which is recorded in the town's history.