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Busted


You sit in the bath, sipping champagne. Bath, glass, head, so many bubbles.

Seven years ago, you married an old, boring, rich man, who brought you on his business trip today so he could vanish again. After a chance sighting in the hotel lounge bar, a string of terse phonecalls via friends you trust, and the careful manipulation of your husband-bestowed security escort, you successfully coordinated a one night only to get it off again with your young, incredibly fit, good-looking romance from the past.

Reception called as soon as he arrived. You ran the bath while he collected the key you left for him at reception. You opened the champagne as he stepped from the lift. You slipped into the bath as he turned down your hall.

The door clicks open. You hear clinking glasses as he pours himself champagne. He comes into the bathroom.

Maybe you expect him to strip off and get in with you. At the very least, you expect him to give you a bit more than the pragmatic peck-on-the-head and the 'Hello, luv!' that is what he actually gives you. You really don't expect him to scoop a palmful of bubbles and smack you in the face with it.

He says, 'Bop!'

November 2011


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