Ah, there he is again that slob. As always, complaining about me to yet another “friend” of his. How unfortunate I was to be married to him. I could never find it in me to love him, no matter how hard I tried. And admittedly I do wonder, how could anybody love him? The only times he was truly satisfied was when I stood still and held my tongue. Now it seems he got his wishes, because here I hang, still and quiet. A portrait of me that is no portrait of me. Well, now he`s rid of me, only the his remains in this portrait, though strictly speaking I was never his. The only thing I desire to know, is whether I shall ever be rid of him?