It was soon our tenth anniversary, but if she kept banging on about it, I doubt very much that we’d see our eleventh.
She’d been leaving hints. Post-it notes with hearts, coupons for flowers, there were suddenly more candles around the place than before.
I‘d got the message.
She wanted to go to the club, which was cool. We had friends there.
As I got dressed, I’d given ‘Big Bouncing’ Barry a call.
I stood by the front door. Freshly ironed shirt and slacks, hair slicked back, and my best (worst) comfy slippers on my feet. “I’m ready,” I called.