“I just don’t want to O-D.”She laughed. “Okay, sport. Maybe later. You might have to beg me, though.”I looked her dead in the eye. “I know...how much you want to show them to me again,” I said.She blinked. Her eyes got wary.“You really are growing up ... you know that?”“You have no idea,” I said.She turned to go. I had a sudden impulse to experiment. “Randi?”She turned around.“Kiss me good night.”“What?”“I’m taking a nap. Kiss me good night.”There for a second I didn’t think she was going to do. Still, there was no excuse for her typos. That’s how an A grade paper ended up with an F. She looked at the F which summed up her f-ing life, and understood why Van Gogh had sliced off his ears. Life simply sucked. And if that was not all, nothing mattered anymore. Her husband of many years had just told her he wanted to leave. And she was mourning the loss of a lousy sexless ten year marriage. At 34, nonetheless, and with no kids to show for it, either. ‘I guess it’s good-bye then,’ Matt had. More

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