It's not fair for you to be this much better at this than I am.
It was just a coin flip. "Whoever gets tails has to go out and do our day-to-day life. Whoever gets heads stays home, does housework, and chills." Other than that, you're identical. Every memory, every preference, every little mannerism. It's not really clear if one of us is "the original," but it's clear that we're equivalent. Or, we should be.
Why is it that you come home from a life that ran me ragged with a smile on your face? Why do all our friends say you're doing better than ever, and why am I still in the same slump we were in before our little experiment?
How do you have the energy to molest me like that when we get back? Can you feel the way I envy you when you do? You're in better shape than I am - you've picked up jogging and weights, and I've been perving on... my own body, and what it looks like when you take care of it.
I could try and catch up with you, I guess. But we don't really need more than the one income, the situation would be too complicated to explain to friends and family (plus the equipment we used to do it is super illegal), and when I ask if you're satisfied, you say you're just happy to have such a cutie to come home to. When I ask if you want me to work out with you, you laugh and say you'd be happy for me to join you, but you like the way our body looks a little out of shape.
The part that drives me nuts is I should be able to read you. I should know how you feel about this, how I would feel about this. But I think I'm a little dizzy from your attention, and I've lost track of whether you like this version of me, truly, or whether you've gotten hooked on being the better version of me and knowing how into it I am.
