Do my ankles look swollen, Martin?
Maybe a little puffy, dear. Although you’ve always had gorgeous gams. Are you eating right?
Not so much lately. I seem to be distracted.
Ah, off your feed then, Harriet?
God, Martin, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.
Sorry, Dear.
Oh, well.
I’d rub your feet for you if I had substance, Harriet.
Yes, I know you would, dear. I appreciate the thought, even if your hands are misty memories now. You always were fairly good at it, too. I loved some of the spots you so cleverly hit. Weakened my knees, I tell you.
Well, finally! A comment from you that isn’t in some way making my manhood feel even more insubstantial.
Don’t be stupid, Martin. You know you were always a fairly adequate lover.
Fairly adequate… well, don’t get too effusive there, Harriet. Wouldn’t want you to muss your hair in the excitement.
Give me a large break here Martin. I can’t help it if you decided to marry a bitch.
Uh, …
Ha! I finally rendered you speechless.
Bitch…
Quite right, Martin. Quite right.
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LIFE on the HALF SHELL 