I'm a Bad Girl

Sitting here with a glass of wine in front of me. All alone. No reason to drink. Just want to. I should not admit that, should I? It's just that the stress of not slapping that b*tch of a daughter of mine requires medication of some sort.

One of your stories would do, Pender. I have decided not to believe you about You-know-who. There is no way she is having a fling with some young thing. Why her? Why not me? She has a husband. I don't. I know you said you have proof but you didn't say what it was and as you say you are a bit prickly. You will simply have to provide more than your word and some ill-gotten prescription medications before I will believe this sordid tale. The beauty is in the details. What sort of outfits? What proof?

You really do look like Kate, Harper. It is so nice to have you back in town. I admit I haven't thought about you in years but when I saw you at that party I just knew we would be best friends again. You have not said a word about that new man we met there. What was his name? I cannot remember. The one with the awful wife? I will take your silence on the matter as an affirmation that you were as smitten as he. Shall I cast him? (Why have I never played this game before. I adore it.)



And that's you on his shoulder. (I love this guy. Do you know his name?) Now that would brighten up the weekend wouldn't it? What the hell. Leave in the gag and the bonds. Why not? So what if he looks nothing like your new man it's pleasant to think about, isn't it?