One hand pressed flat upon his chest and the other fluttering about like a butterfly looking for a place to rest, he began to pace. Back and forth he...minced with dainty, feminine steps, deep in thought. There is something wrong...but for Christ Sake...WHAT? He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd paced the length of the living room or even exactly when he'd become aware of his reflection off the large mirror on the side wall. But when he finally began to see, really see himself, his fretful. Making a bit of small talk, I ask if they were heading out for tennis, she replied no, this is what I wear as a ruse to get away from that lump I'm married to was her short sweet reply. I ask if she wanted something to drink, coffee or tea, she just shrugged her shoulders and said whatever is handy. I turned to get the tea pitcher from the fridge and heard a kerplunk behind me, I thought she must've went to sit and missed the chair. Nope, I look around and she is sitting her ass up on my dining. More

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