While drinking, she wants to talk marriage.
"I wish I were a man," she'll say. "I'd get down on my knees now with the most expensive ring I could afford."
Forced to bet my nickel this minute, I'd wager the relationship settles into this. She lives with me, yet spends two or three nights weekly with her ex, the legendarily attractive Native American who gives her the nasty sex she needs, along with the opiates she doesn't need. While I spend those same nights with a soft pretty blonde, as yet unknown, who gives me the sweet affectionate sex I need, along with the remorse I don't need. And we all learn to deal with each other as best we can.
Later, she stresses how embarrassed she is, for speaking aloud.
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