I should’ve worn the other dress,
the red one with the ****** zip;
he’s not looking at my brooch,
Christ,
his gaze is disappearing into my cleavage—
Cleavage.
What … distasteful language,
as if God had picked up an axe
and struck me right between the ****.

She placed her fork on the plate,
picked up the menu once again,
and pretended to study the desserts.

I should’ve worn my glasses;
these contacts are killing me.
Has a piece of broccoli just—?
****!
She must think I’m staring at her *******.
I’m not.
I swear on my mother’s grave
a piece of broccoli’s just dropped down—
Ooh. That’s a stunning piece of jewelry.*

He took a sip of Sauvignon blanc,
studied the restaurant logo on the menu in front of him,
and ordered another bottle of wine.