I waited patiently behind a lady at the grocery store today. She is one of the characters at the store who have to talk to the cashier like they are two neighbors sharing a leisurely coffee.
“I’m 53 and my husband is 54,” she said, taking all the time in the world. “At this age, I don’t want to see his sorry self all the time. We have separate beds like Luci and Desi, but we went one better. We have separate bedrooms!”
After a long pause to dig through her purse for change, she said, “Separate rooms are perfect. Except once a month we meet to do MR. NASTY!”