Some hours later, Sharon sat at home on her sofa. To her left, a large bowl had slidden to the floor. Saucy remnants of rocky road and strawberry ice cream ran down it's round side; nothing a Rug Doctor wouldn't someday resolve. Two and one half bottles of wine sat open and empty on the coffee table. A crappy Julia Roberts movie played on the television set.
Sharon was enchanted, enamored and inebriated.
A second bowl of microwave popcorn sat half-eaten to her right. Progress had not ceased, simply slowed. One of those obscure Scandinavian rom-spense novels sat further to the right on the end table. She had read it and all of the sequels cover to cover.
Soon she would resort to her home pseudo-office where her focus would return again to Charlie the Unicorn and his life of adventure.
"I don't live in a glass house!" Sharon thought to herself. "Why must I feel like a child? I love sweet and sour chicken." Sharon was, at times, the shallowest of shallow. While she could, for hours on end, criticize men and boys and other females of shallowness and despicability, she herself rivaled all in these precise traits. Self-pity, loneliness, and vacuousness were not her closest friends, but perhaps some of her most consistent companions.
Sharon was enchanted, enamored and inebriated.
A second bowl of microwave popcorn sat half-eaten to her right. Progress had not ceased, simply slowed. One of those obscure Scandinavian rom-spense novels sat further to the right on the end table. She had read it and all of the sequels cover to cover.
Soon she would resort to her home pseudo-office where her focus would return again to Charlie the Unicorn and his life of adventure.
"I don't live in a glass house!" Sharon thought to herself. "Why must I feel like a child? I love sweet and sour chicken." Sharon was, at times, the shallowest of shallow. While she could, for hours on end, criticize men and boys and other females of shallowness and despicability, she herself rivaled all in these precise traits. Self-pity, loneliness, and vacuousness were not her closest friends, but perhaps some of her most consistent companions.
