“let’s get a dog.”
“we don’t have room in the flat.”
“how about a small dog? we could fit it in, couldn’t we?”
“but i like big dogs.”
“listen. dog’s a dog. faithful. i ever tell you about the first time i saw you? your heels were too high and you were knock-kneed from the strain, but you wouldn’t sit down.”
“those were designer shoes. cost me a fortune, buddy.” i lightly smacked him across his cheek. “nice to know it was my smarts and conversational skills that attracted you.”
that’s when he nudged me and reminded me how much he loved the way my ass looked when i wore heels. in no time, he degenerated into telling me what he really loved was kneeling down and sliding my heels off, one at a time. then we went to bed and i let him think it was his idea.
he left on a business trip the next day and i never saw him again. heart attack in a hotel room in New York City. the chambermaid found him in the morning. i fucking hated the chambermaid; she was the last to see him, not me. all i have left are his ashes which, for some reason, i store in the hall closet.