“But surely, Marie,” Helen said, dealing the next hand of gin rummy in their game – Helen had one six hands, Marie just two – “you can say at least one nice thing about Joe.”
“If you give me a week,” Marie said, groaning under her breath, “maybe I can think of something. But at least a week, Helen –“
“Why’d you marry him if he was such a creep?”
“Because he swept me off my feet and turned into the Tasmanian Devil two weeks after we got married.”
“Oh, come on – say something nice about him.”
“Okay. He might’ve cheated on me with my own mother, he might’ve embezzled fifty thousand from my father’s plastic vomit and party favor supply company, he might’ve married a Panamanian woman while I was pregnant with our third son, he might’ve slapped me every week in the last year of our marriage while he drank away our life savings, and he might’ve called my boss at Bell South and talked about the pink shade of my private parts – but at least he was on time.”
Helen burst out laughing. Marie started laughing. She who laughs last, laughs last.
“That’s right, laugh, Helen. At least the bastard was on time.”
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