It was my idea. I haven't seen an opera before and I really wanted to wear a gown.
It was unbelievably boring. Poor Dennis, but poorer me for feeling boredom and guilt for three hours.
Caught up with familiar faces after the show. The night kept getting worse. The fake talk and laughter lasted until two in the morning. They wouldn't let go of us. We were naturally charming.
The drive home was quiet, but inside I felt robbed of a good time with Den. And really, I was hungry.
'Let's stop over the gas station.' Without question he turned the car and parked in front of the convenience store. He was drained of wit, acting by command. Poor Dennis.
I grabbed a hotdog sandwich, potato chips and coffee. Dennis took two hotdog sandwiches and two bags of potato chips. After putting his food on our table, he walked away, then came back holding with both hands the biggest glass of iced tea I had seen in my life.
I'm sorry, I said. He laughed then shook his head. (I love it when I make men laugh.) We talked—not about ourselves—not about the opera for sure. We rambled about TV shows we've seen, movies, senators, codes of conduct, ways of preparing a hotdog sandwich.
The drive from the gas station to my home was peaceful.
I sat on the bed and for the last time told him I'm sorry.
'I kept looking at your cleavage during the show. All I could think of was biting those breasts.' I laughed then shook my head. He came near me then kissed my chest, but went no further. We were too tired.