He really didn’t know what had gone wrong, though something was amiss, like finding the last tortilla chip loaded with cheese and it has a long gray hair from your granny stuck in it that you discover only as it is hanging out of your mouth and pulling on your lip when you start to crunch with what you thought would be triumph.
Yes, it was true, no denying it now, his relationship was just starting to crumple, not unlike the way his mother’s face looked when she pulled into the driveway to find Dad smiling while waving cheerily as he grabbed his new gal’s ass for the whole damn trailer park to see. He remembered that day clearly, because his mother told the story often, but only when she had a cigarette hanging from her lips, bourbon in one hand, and the other between her legs scratching and looking for all the world like the elderly version of Peg Bundy with her hot pink pants and bright orange lipstick. Returning from his psychedelic trip down memory lane, after deciding that his birth must have been a miracle, or for Dad, some kind of waking nightmare, he decided that he’d better call his pal, Jerry Springer, for more relationship advice.
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