Over to the truck at the east first, where the young bloke insisted she wear the specific top for the race. An ugly navy hessian sack of a thing. "Wha... size, love?" Ten."He searched through the jumbled tangle of shirts and produced a size twenty-four."You must be joking," she protested. "I'd be swimming in that."He searched half-heartedly. "Look love, this is the best I can do," handing her a size eighteen."Jeez. Didn't know it was a sack race," she muttered, audibly. She heaved the garment. Okay, I wasn't a whore. When I say amount to something I meant a man who was going to have high standards and provide for his family. We didn't necessarily have to be rich, but my husband had to love me and our kids and provide at least a comfortable life for us. I didn't think that was too much to ask for.As pretty as I was, I could have just married one of those cheesy old rich guys who were always sniffing around me after football games. Right now I haven't convinced you yet have I? As. More

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