I stayed on the phone with Rosa last night until midnight. She talked me out of going to get that six-pack of Heineken.
"I don't like you when you are drinking," she said. "You are a different person. But you are easy to bed."
"I know," I replied. "I just feel this empty feeling and want to fill it with alcohol."
"Do you want me to come back over and stay the night?"
"No, I am fine," I replied. "You go get some sleep."
I then left the house just to clear my head as I went on my nightly hike. I had a discussion with my favorite all-night convenience store clerk. He was telling me of the merits of Plumper's porno magazine and I smiled deeply as he talked, amused.
"Big women are just more beautiful," he said, looking wistful.
"My ex-wife was a big woman," I replied. "I thought she was gorgeous."
"You were a lucky man," he told me. "Why did you get a divorce?"
"Ah, it's a long story," I said, not wanting to delve into my days of drunken debauchery sans my medications for my mental illness.
"I see all these skinny women in Playboy and Penthouse and want to tell them to eat a sandwich or two or three."
I burst out laughing. My ex-wife never had that problem. She struggled with her weight so and the pressure society puts upon women to be svelte and slim. I always thought she was being silly and was fine just the way she was. My grandmother would have called her healthy.