– This is my suicide dress, – she told him. – I only wear it on days when I’m afraid I might kill myself if I don’t wear it.
– You’ve been wearing it every day since we met, – he said.
– And these are my arson gloves.
– So you don’t set fire to something? – he asked.
– Exactly. And this is my terrorism lipstick, my assault and battery eyeliner, my armed robbery boots.
– I’d like to undress you, – he said. – But would that make me an accomplice?
– And today, – she said. – I’m wearing my infidelity underwear so don’t get any ideas.
So she put on her nervous breakdown hat and walked out the door.
(c) Denver Butson