One of my friends went on a date last night.
“How was it?” I said.
She had some nitpicky things to say before she got to the good part. “He told me his wife died, and I said I was sorry. Then I asked when she died. Guess how long?”
“Two weeks?” I said.
“Close. Three months. His wife was an alcoholic who drank herself to death. He started talking about when she was dying, how she was projectile-vomiting blood ‘and it was coming out her bottom, too.’ ”
I couldn’t stop laughing. “Sounds charming,” I said. “So you’re saying it wasn’t a match made in heaven.”