Fifteen minutes later, she flies down the stairs with a fresh coat of makeup and a heavy smell of Aqua Net. Her hair is teased, her lips are crimson, and her too short skirt is paired with a ridiculously skimpy crop top. Save for looking like a middle-aged hooker, she's not half bad.

Yanking her car keys from the coffee table, she dashes to the door, not even looking back when she yells, "I'm meeting Tom for drinks. Don't wait up!" The front door slams and I'm alone again. ...