Apparently you don’t have to observe the Rules of Etiquette when reuniting with a muderous spouse.

There you go. Use your granddaughter to pick up women. That’ll get you points in heaven.

Then I got this image of my big toe, painted bright red, suddenly developing a face and a hot Southern temper to match, screaming, “What the hell is wrong with mah bad self?

Sometimes things would be so much simpler if you could just pull out your gun and shoot the bad guy. Reason number seventeen why Indiana Jones is my hero.

We went to the door and I let Asha in. I expected an uberawkward moment when he and Vayl met. But Asha took care of that problem right away. “So you belong to Jasmine,” he said in his melancholy voice. It somehow delivered Vayl his deepest condolences without bearing a trace of malice toward me.

I’m sure it’s nothing switching to a light beer won’t cure.

Still enmeshed from the knees down, Vayl flopped off the cabinet before we realized he needed a hand down, falling fast and hard like a penguin who hasn’t bought the whole flightless scenario.

Whatever happened to ‘Hey, how are you?’ ‘Long time, no see.’ Apparently you don’t have to observe the rules of etiquette when reuniting with a murderous spouse.

That’s what I’d call him if he was my dog. Jacket-humper. Kinda had a ring to it. Although it seemed a little long for vet visits and intros to lady dogs.

The girl in me wanted to slap Lung across his face and yell, “Get your eyes off my sticky buns, ya creep!