So.

The Dude had to drop by to give me my payment. You know, for the shitloads of cash he still owes me.

I was working on installing a shelf along the fireplace wall – down by the floor – with the front door open . . .

When I heard the car door slam, I leaned forward at the knees to drill an anchor into the wall. I inspected it closely.

Very, very closely.

My ass in the air.

In tight jeans.

The doorbell rang.

I tossed my hair as I looked over my shoulder.

“Oh hai.” I said. Ass in the air. Because after all this time – I know how to yank that chain.

Yank, yank mother fucker. How’s yer life?

I stood. (Wearing my tight lacy cami.)

Oh. I see how yer life is. All 340 pounds of it.

We talked. I showed him the kitchen projects. Because I am awesome. I just redid a fucking kitchen looking hot ass.

Before he left – I gestured – “What the FUCK is up with all this?”

He said, “The mismatched outfit, the weight gain, or the whole project?”

Uh yeah. That whole thing.

After he left and I snarked to my girls about him, I was all fired up and I sent a text.

“You realize I can tell how much you hate your life by the weight gain right? Is she really worth killing yourself over? Is she really worth being sick and not having a life with your boys? Which, aren’t questions you have to answer to me – but you might consider sacking up and answering them for yourself, cuz Jesus dude.”

Which, I was expecting no response, but he answered the truth smack with “Thank you.”

So I went on and dug that knife on in.

“Which isn’t JUST because if you die I will never get paid back, and that her skanky whore ass getting dumped makes me smile, BUT goddamn, believe you are worth SOMETHING. I hate your face, but you still hate yourself more than *I* do.”

And there it is. The growing up of Dawn. Callin’ it the way I see it. I may not want to be his friend, be his partner, take care of him, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit aside and not say the truth any longer.