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John cruised supermarkets nightly looking for babes. He was all set with his painted-on tan and capped-tooth smile.
In frozen foods he made eye contact with a likely honey. Ten, fifteen years too young perhaps, but John didn’t look 47. He made small talk and by the produce section she was smiling back.
John made sure they were next to each other at the check-out. He’d make his move now.
At the register, John was startled. “Wendy. What are you doing working here?”
“You stopped paying child support, you snake,” she cried, “remember? I had to get a second job.”