Well, a dirtbag sleaze who deserves what he gets.I set it aside and wrote a more satisfying story of domestic lovedeceived and yet fulfilled ("Trust M..."), a kind I prefer. MeanwhileI showed this story to one of the best mean streets writers I know(Parker), and even he thought it a little gross. So like Virgil withthe Aeneid I kept it by me ten years. It didn't get less offensive. I've only now found it buried in an electronic pile of old draftsof stories in process or in need of. “One, sir, thank you! I interrupted my betters several times, I used the bathroom like I was entitled to it and even then took more than my allotted time. I assumed the food I should put in our bowls and expected to eat when I should be serving the table, those are the things I know about Sir! Was there more?” she asked submissively.“That will do for now! Do you think twenty swats are sufficient to help you remember not to make those mistakes again?” Mike asked as he delivered another strike on. It was however progress that they were at least trying to seem respectful and not openly defiant.On the way to the mall, they listened to music, and the conversation was fairly casual. Karen was a stickler about being polite, but she didn’t stop the girls from joking.“I know they don’t have to call us Ma’am, but can I ask why doesn’t Mark and Tucker have to call all other women Ma’am?” Cheyenne asked.“That is a good point,” Karen thought about it and told the boys they would be doing that at. I smiled. "Remind me to talk to dad about raising your allowance," I said to the back of her head. "So how about the team, how do they look?" There's nine girls. Seven, like Kelly, have been taking gymnastics for years. Two are just starting." Just what we need. Bench warmers," I mumbled."Anthony Sims, that wasn't very nice!" Mom said quickly, and with a little more venom than necessary."Sorry. I just meant that if they haven't done gymnastics before, they probably won't be much help to the.