Norman’s wife has teeth that are so straight, they look like a dentist just stuck his plastic teeth model in her mouth and called it a native set of pearly whites.  Then she smiled, whipped up a fresh batch of biscuits, worked the nine to five down at the paper, and still made it home in time to work on jigsaw puzzles while Norman sipped whisky.

Because of this, nobody can quite figure out why Norman had sex with his hairstylist.  Was it her low-cut shirt, the way she petted his hair, or the argument he had with Glenda over a chip in the gravy boat that previous morning while unloading the dishwasher?  Or maybe it was a combination of all those elements, which eventually lead up to Glenda opening her bedroom door after a long day at the paper to find her middle-aged husband tangled in the sheets with a twenty-three year old woman.

But don’t stop reading now.  This is the part of the story where things get suspenseful.  What happened next?  Did Glenda pound her fists against her husband’s hairy back?  Did she resort to name-calling, criticizing the hairstylist’s wide feet?  Did she storm out of the house to start a new life in a cabin in a remote region of the Alaskan wilderness?

Glenda did no such thing.  She sighed, shut the door, and went about preparing a meal.  She even set an extra place at dinner for their guest.  And Norman just went right on back to what he was doing before his wife stepped in.  In fact, right up until Glenda cocked her shotgun and sent a bullet tearing through his skull, a sly little smile never left his face.  The hairstylist sat up in the bed and just stared at Glenda, who then aimed the gun in her direction.  Glenda, however, didn’t pull the trigger that time.  She never was one to dine alone.