Hitchcock decided this was a fun game. He duplicated the position of our rumps and let loose with doggie gas that sounded like human burps and smelled like moo goo gai pan. Rising, I extended my first finger. “Look, Hitchcock, there’s a cat. Chase the cat.” My gullible mutt bounded toward the kitchen while I closed the connecting door. Then I retrieved Ben’s jeans and shirt from the bathroom, handed him the jeans, and put on the shirt. “Ingrid,” he said, “what happened to my shorts?” “You weren’t wearing shorts. Maybe,” I said, “you left them at Patty’s house to be dry-cleaned.” “Maybe I left them inside your dryer. Look, if this Patty thing is going to become an issue, I’ll reclaim my hotel room. I didn’t really check out, you know.” “Ben, I’m sorry. God, I sounded like my ex.” “He was jealous?” “Yes. And scared. Afraid I’d leave him. We fought all the time, but the biggie was my prom picture. He insisted I destroy Wylie. Remember the photo with all of us together?”
What do You think about Footprints In The Butter (2010)?
