What About Bob?

What Bob wants is a drink. His nerves were shot; he was shaking like crazy and he hoped his ex didn’t notice. He finally managed to sign the alimony check, but between the shaking and the flop sweat, his signature came out smeared and nearly illegible.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The Ex asked, holding the check between her thumb and forefinger, like it was contaminated.

Bob mopped his sweaty brow. “Nothing. Late for an appointment.”

The Ex’s top lip curled into a disgusted sneer. “Going to see that dirty slut you’ve been screwing around with, I bet. What’s her name? Theresa? The one who had the kid when she was fourteen. Honestly, Robert. So many men have ridden that girl, she should change her name to Amtrak.”

Bob nearly choked. “Wh – what do you know about Tessa?”

The Ex laughed. “Robert, honey. Everybody knows. Well, everybody but that moron she’s dating. And you, I guess. Not to mention she’s your daughter’s best friend, pervert.”

Bob hated when she called him Robert. Condescending tramp.

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