He didn’t like them either. He just thought they were stupid. Maureen had her own reasons. He knew it didn’t matter. If Maureen didn’t like them... he wasn’t wearing them and that was that. He picked out a light blue boat neck shirt, a pair of dark blue straight legged slacks, a pair of black socks and the black casual shoes she said she liked. He was going all out to look good tonight. She wanted him to look good, and he was determined to make her proud of him. He drove over and picked her up. In Stockholm not too long ago I met her, all swollen as she had been seeded and was now bearing the fruit of his loins, and about ready to drop. We chatted and after a few glasses of Red I was persuaded to return back to her home for diner, which then developed into an overnight stay. He was there, older and more ugly, than from what I remembered him, more sleezy and Dickens Micawberish, in mannerisms. As the night progressed he slunk of to his bed and we chatted, she confessed he was not in. More

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