So, one day, at the bowling alley where Smith and Jones and I meet once a week to roll a stupid ball down a narrow path to knock over ten pins - don't...get me started - I pour my heart out about how Harriett and I never get any time alone. Hell, we can't even go see a movie or have dinner out. The neighborhood carryout places know us by our caller ID.Like clockwork, without us placing an order, the bar maid approached with a tray of drinks. Her uniform was consistent on every visit: a ruffled. 30, and we would thenpop out to the little Italian round the corner for something to eat.While I stood at the bar, I was approached by a businessman, Rupert, whoasked to buy me a drink. We chatted, and even though the conversationwas pleasant enough, I didn't want it to go too far - although from whatI remember about his groin he wanted it to go further all right. Justthen Amy arrived, followed by a man, who was a colleague of Rupert's,Marco. They asked the both of us to join them for a glass. More

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