We stepped into the living room and some dip shit was sitting on a recliner watching television. "That’s my husband," Debbie said, pointing to him. ...This is my friend," she added, pointing to me. "I’m gonna go change into something comfortable, beers is in the fridge."I walked into the kitchen, got a beer and walked to the couch. I set down and waited. This guy never even looked at me. 'Wonder what she sees in him?' I thought to myself.Debbie came out of the bedroom in a pair of short, purple. ”“I bet.”“I thought she would be shocked or put off a little by that direct approach but I was wrong.”“Why? How did she respond?” She didn’t seem to be mad at me.“She said that I was welcome any time. Amanda, she sure didn’t look or act like a fifteen-year-old this morning, and I took it out on you and I feel miserable.”She thought about this for longer than I liked and answered, “Good. You should feel miserable.”“I’m sorry. I can’t remember when I’ve felt this badly.” She let those words hang. More

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