“What are the rules?”
Her shoulders droop. She ticks the points off on her fingers with the barrel of the gun. “6 weeks between concussions, I can only shoot him once a month, I can’t stab him with anything bigger than a dinner fork.”
He holds his hand out for the Glock. “And?”
Her carefully blank look fools no one.
“And?”
“And no kicks to the head while wearing skates.” She slaps the gun into his palm.
“He almost lost an eye last time.”
“Not my fault he didn’t pay attention during a fight.”
This is why everyone should sign a pre-nup. Terms of a divorce always stink.
ReplyDeleteI like this so much I want to read more... perhaps the beginning of a novel??
ReplyDeleteAt least a short story, no?