—31—

FOCK THE focking dinner!

Pardon me terrible language.

We were almost there, though I’m not sure where or what there is.

And I lost me nerve and mentioned dinner.

And then he lost his nerve.

And the fire inside me went out.

And I guess the fire inside him went out, too.

I’m frustrated. I want whatever it is that women are supposed to get out of sex, even if them as me ma calls the prim and proper don’t get it.

The next time Til keep me focking mouth shut.

I promise.

He should be furious at me, but he’s not. Is that good or bad?

Probably good.