‘Nice night, isn’t it?’ She said looking out the frosted window, and absently drumming her perfect fingers with their perfect glossy nails on th... countertop. ‘I’m sorry, madam?’ I said, as I finished pulling the boxes and glanced outside. It was getting worse. The exterior floodlights, which pointed at the sidewalk, were making it look more precarious as the last dregs of sunlight gradually died outside. With the unfathomable darkness shrouded by a swirling cloak of snow, the night seemed a. About 10 years ago, my wife used to attend Bunco parties in a different neighborhood. If you are not familiar with Bunco, it is a dice game and from what I understand popular with women as a night out, at least in our area. It is an excuse to get together and have a few drinks. At the time, my wife was about 42. She is about 5’9′ and 140lbs, brown hair and green eyes. On one of these nights I dropped my wife off with plans for her to either call for a ride or catch a ride with one of her. His eyes became bloodshot with rage. “You bitch.” He fumed. “No one talk to me like this in my house.” Taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor, I moved backward. He lunged at me. I tried to dodge him, but he was fast. He grabbed my arm. “What’re you doing, let me go.” I cried, struggling to get free from his grip. He easily lifted my petite body in his arms. I tried to break his grip, unsuccessfully. He took me to his room and dropped me on his bed. “Now slut, what were you saying?” Tears. Ellen had slacked off from her first day sales results, selling about twenty units per day for the next three days. She and I hadn't fooled around any more since that one time, although she continued bringing a change of clothing with her every day to work. She had purchased several new outfits for herself, and asked me if it would be okay to leave them in the closet in the front of the office at the warehouse. She had also gotten her hair cut and styled, and now looked about five years younger.
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