“Seeking new husband. Must meet the following criteria:…”

K wanted to apply for the position. But he knew he wouldn’t make the cut. While he had loved her for years, he was not as robust or as rich as the new man he needed to be.

One morning K, her neighbor and life-long “friend,” watched as a line of men began materializing in front of her house. Soon the line of men stretched the length of the street.

At 2 pm, she opened her front door. For the next 10 hours, men entered the house, men left the house. By 1 AM the line had dwindled. Having nothing to lose, K got in line—the last candidate.

“K, what are you doing? You know you can’t apply. Plus, [Redacted] wore J Crew exclusively.”

K frowned. He marched into the bedroom and examined the deceased’s wardrobe.

“The new one has to wear J Crew too.” She was behind him.

“Was that in your ad?”

“Toward the bottom.”

“ I hate J Crew.”

“I know.”

K put his hand to her cheek and she pressed back into it. Then he left, but not before stealing a pair of the deceased’s J Crew socks—which he kinda liked.