Back to square fucking one. You know, when you make a clumsy, abortive pass at your best friend when you’re twenty, it’s charming, at twenty-five,...amusing. At thirty-eight, it’s absurd. This brings us to New Years’ Eve, when I found myself being kissed and caressed on a soon-to-become twenty-minute trek to take out the trash. Fortunately, none of my other friends had the wherewithal to clean up, our absence went slightly, drunkenly noticed. After some animated snogging and furtive caresses, I. It was around 5:30 and the girls were going to get around 6 for dinner. So I grabbed my handbag and drove to the restaurant. A few hours later we were done and off to the bars for a night of fun. It was around 1:30 when I drove home. I was chatting with my friends about the night, all the guys we talked to, danced with, and the ones we would have gone home with that I did not notice the house was brighter than when I left. I unlocked the door and walked in and to my shock I John was sitting on. More

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