8
Divorce, Italian Style
When I pulled into the drive at home at two a.m., a light was on in the kitchen.
"So who is she?" Felicia asked, sipping a hot mug of coffee to bolster her resolve. "That tramp at the office?"
So my interrogation began where I'd expected it to end after hours of t*****e.
I'll never go the distance! I don't have enough material!
"Well," I said, trying to sound casual. "It's not like I was the first to fall off the wagon."
"Todd?!" She looked genuinely outraged. A nice touch, I thought. She looked up defiantly. "You think I'm f*****g around with Todd?"
"I saw the way you look at him."
"He's gay!" she shrieked. It took a moment for me to realize she wasn't just making it up to score points.
"Come on. I saw what I saw."
"We're friends," she said, recovering
