“Your husband is as unremarkable as my least favorite pair of socks, but that’s not a conversation I’m interested in having now,” I counter. “Now, if there’s nothing I can do—” “Yes, there’s nothing. Even if I did need help, I wouldn’t turn to you for it. You’re stuck up higher than a light pole.” She wipes her nose with the back of her arm, sniffling. “Beat it.” “Now, now, Winnifred. I thought all southern belles were sweet and agreeable.” “Go away already!” She jumps to her feet and slams the door in my face, or whatever’s left of the unhinged door, anyway. For a brief moment, I contemplate
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