I sighed when I came home from the hospital. Visiting George every evening after a day at work was dragging me down, I had to admit. Even George had said something recently. Martha, he said in that nicotine gravel of a voice he had, you got to get you some fun sometime.
But how could I have fun anymore? Without George at home I had too much to do around the house. Tonight, however, I couldn’t deal with it, so I opened the refrigerator door. How beautiful it sat there, that bottle of New Zealand white wine. As shiny as a new car on the showroom floor. And I started to reach for it …
No, I promised him. I promised myself. And remember what happened the last time I drank? I ended up in Hayward without knowing how I got there. I can’t do it … but I need something, some guilty pleasure. So I raided the freezer. Thank God! A little of that French vanilla ice cream left. And some Smuckers caramel sauce. Yum … heat it up in the microwave. I went to the corner table in the kitchen and had my ice cream treat … yum. But not enough. It’s too silent here.
I think I’ll go into the bedroom and masturbate to my Victoria Secret catalog. The house is too quiet without George here.
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