Stephen
“How do I look?” My wife Melissa asked, as she cascade down the steps towards me as if she were in a movie about royalty.
“Fine dear, let’s go,” I said, not really paying attention to her outfit. She had the habit of wearing clothes that made a statement. Her reasoning had to do with wanting to stand out and be a trendsetter, or something like that. I stopped listening when she started talking about patterns.
“Just fine?” She asked, sounding more like a child than a fifty eight-year-old woman.
“You look beautiful, now let’s go,” I said, ushering her out the door and towards my Aston Martin. We were on our way to the party for all my clients and I didn’t want to be late. Being late was not my style. I always preached to my son about the importance of being at least fifteen minu
