Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!

Last Friday's bridge was excruciating.  Shortly after lunch (a nasty, perfunctory cheeseburger), I had occasion to say to my left hand opponent, "You are rude.  Never open your fucking face to me again."  Not long after which, my partner, Mildred, having opened the bidding with one heart, I responded one spade, which she raised to four spades.  When the dummy was laid out, there were but two tiny spot cards in the spades column.  Loudly I said, "Mildred, when you open a heart, and I respond a spade, how many spades have I got?"  

"Five?"

"Four!"

Tuesday, the day after Memorial Day, I called Mildred:  "Hi, Mildred. How are you?"

"I'm fine.  When are we going to get together again?"

"We're not.  I'm going to be busy."

"Oh, all right.  Bye then."

"Bye."

And so endeth oh so many (three? five?) years of onerous complicity in the pretense that nonagenarian widows who know nothing about bridge, and don't want to learn, can play bridge.