Patricia’s face in the loading screen, man. That expression. Like she’s already regretting the whole thing but her body hasn’t caught up yet. You know the one. I’ve seen it on three separate Tinder dates right before they “go to the bathroom” and never come back. So I’m already relating hard to Tim here, this poor bastard who went to their wedding and now gets a text basically saying “my husband’s swimmers are duds, can you come over?”

The whole thing runs on that weird Lesson of Passion engine where everyone moves like they’ve got a broomstick taped to their spine. Not complaining. It’s part of the charm. The blonde hair physics alone, it’s like Patricia’s ponytail is trying to escape to another dimension. There’s this one choice early on, you’re just standing in her kitchen and she’s explaining the “arrangement” and you can either be a total gentleman or immediately point at your crotch. I picked the crotch option because I’m a broken man and her reaction is this perfect mix of disgust and relief. She wanted a sperm donor, not a boyfriend, and my guy Tim just failed the vibe check spectacularly.

Got the bad ending first try. Obviously. She kicked me out and I sat there staring at the main menu like it was my own reflection. The story branches are actually mean. You think you’re being smooth, offering a glass of wine, and the game remembers you’re technically committing a sin against your best friend. The big tits are front and center, don’t get me wrong, the jiggle is set to maximum overdrive, but the dialogue keeps dragging you back to the guilt. Her husband’s photo on the nightstand isn’t just set dressing. You have to click on it. You have to look at it. And then you have to decide if you’re going to fuck his wife anyway while the game’s unpolished 3d models clip through the furniture. It’s a mess. A hot, morally bankrupt mess. I need to call my ex.