She swirled her dirty martini, watching the lone olive drift in the glass like a tiny, defeated life raft. “So,” she said, her voice a low purr of controlled chaos, “the divorce attorney’s number is in your phone under ‘Golf Buddy.’”
“I tipped him your dignity. He said it was fine, but it had a small stain.” adult comedy
Greg didn’t look up. “Hilarious. Did you remember to tip the valet?” She swirled her dirty martini, watching the lone
Across the restaurant, a twenty-something couple broke up via Instagram DM. Marjorie felt a strange, competitive pang. She leaned forward, letting the candlelight do nefarious things to her cleavage. “I’m serious, Greg. I want the house, the dog, and the good toaster.” “Hilarious
Marjorie had been married to Greg for twenty-two years, which meant she had mastered the art of the silent bet. Tonight’s wager: how many minutes into their “romantic” Thursday dinner before he checked his fantasy football scores.
The waiter arrived with dessert. A single, luridly red velvet cake, shaped like a heart. Greg picked up his fork. “You know,” he said, finally smiling, “this is why I never had an affair.”