Fourteen

There were still no comments in the morning. I was getting over the disappointment and about to leave for work when the flyscreen rattled. It seems like I get lots of visitors and phone calls but I don't. Such activity is very odd, and it's only here because otherwise I'd have to talk about Harry Potter and surfing for porn and I don't want to go there again.

So anyway I pull the curtain back and see two white shirts, a briefcase and parked bikes on the footpath. I pretend that they didn't see me and drop the curtain. I head for the garage to leave- I was already late and couldn't wait for them to lose interest. If I was quick I could be reversing down the driveway before they realised it.

It was a stupid plan. The garage door squeaked and rattled its way open and they were on me like sand flies at the beach. But it occured to me they could be useful.

'Do you guys believe it's a sin to want to bang your friend's girlfriend?'

They stared at each other's perfect hair cuts. One of them pulled a thin magazine out of his briefcase. 'Sins are an issue we all struggle with.'

I nodded. 'That's what I thought.' Pity, it could have been a quick conversion. 'Can't stop, I'm late for work.'

'Are you familiar with the ten commandments?' asked the nearest one with slightly lighter blonde hair and black-rimmed glasses.

'And you guys think Jesus is an American.' You'd think they'd be more liberal.


Work was a joy. *end sarcasm* People's wealth can be measured by their toilets. Both by number and size. The place I did yesterday had five toilets, any one of which was worth more than my car. Today's place was far more modest, two toilets, one of which boasted a home painted seat and cover. I'd have loved to ask why, but sometimes I am capable of tact. Besides, the owners are both cops and I'm not sure if I'm more scared of the Mr or Mrs.

When I got home my answering machine was flashing. I left it, figuring it was probably Mum. The number Lisa left last night was still on the sofa as I walked by. I shook my head - as if.

To my joy there was a comment on my blog. I clicked on it expectantly.

You're a disgusting pig.

Anon.

Very helpful. I shrugged - I'd been called worse.

After that deflation I felt ready to deal with the answering machine.

'Des, pick up, it's Gary.' Pause. 'Des?'

Why do people always assume I'm home and listening to my messages with an evil giggle? Ok so I screen my calls. It's fair enough - I don't do telemarketers or finance companies. You know what I mean.

'I saw Mike this morning at the store. He's really pissed. He thinks Lisa is cheating on him.' Gary guffawed as my throat constricted. 'Duh!' he continued. 'The only surprise is gonna be which football team.' He guffawed again. 'Call me for the goss.'

Click.

I let a long breath escape. Nah. He couldn't think... I mean, nothing happened.

Still...

I dialled Nina's number.

Fifteen

Thirteen

I'm skipping thirteen because it's an unlucky number. You'll get over it.

Fourteen

Twelve

I woke in the night and tossed repeatedly trying to get comfortable. I wondered how J K Rowling would handle this sort of situation. Not because I thought JK Rowling might have pashed her best friend's girlfriend, but more because I haven't made a Harry Potter reference for a while, and that's one of my character things.

After half an hour of restlessness I stumbled to the computer and checked my blog for comments. Nothing. That's the depressing thing about blogs. Pouring your heart out to the world only to receive confirmation that nobody cares.

I added another entry.

Maybe she's not exactly a hoe.

Thirteen