Four Foot Eight

Woodside Park

"Great night last night, wasn't it?"
Marian James looks across at her husband. "It was?"
"Absolutely!", says David. "I had a fabulous time. Good beer, good friends. Can't really ask for more."
"And that's your memory of it? Does your memory extend beyond the sixth pint?"
"Of course it does. We sat in the pub and talked to those nice people from.. oh, where was it? Stockholm?"
"Stuttgart. You don't remember doing anything other than talking?"
"Course not. Charming people."
"You don't remember whispering lecherous nothings to that poor girl while I was at the bar? It's just as well her English wasn't too good - some of that vocabulary you employed was very, well, specialised."
"Uh.. what?"
"Oh, come on! You invited her back to the house for a threesome. That by itself is bad enough, but her boyfriend seemed quite keen on the idea."

David's face turns slowly into a mask of hung over horror. He really wants the train to come right now, so he can change the subject. Or maybe throw himself in front of it.