SCORE ONE FOR KATE

My wife Kate got a new cell phone.  It had taken her six months to
learn to use the features on her last cell phone, and it was your basic
phone, not the phone/camera/e-mail thing she'd just received with her
new World Air Wireless service contract.

"Why would I want to take pictures with a phone?" she asked when I
pointed out the small lens on the back.

"Maybe you're out and see something you want to show someone," I said.
"Look, you can program it so that when someone calls you, if they're in
your contact list, their picture comes up to show you who's calling."

"But I could just read the name like normal caller ID."

"You can take a picture and send an e-mail, right from your phone."

"But it's a *phone!*  I want to use it to call the babysitter and make
sure the kids aren't swinging from the curtain rods.  I want to call
you to tell you I love you.  Why do I need all that other stuff?"

I sighed, a melodramatic, drawn-out breath.  "You're over the hill," I
said with a sad shrug.

"Hey!  I'm only thirty-nine.  There's still some hip left in these
hips."  Kate ran her hands along her admittedly luscious hips, the ones
that had borne us two children, the ones that, having widened a bit
since we met fifteen years ago, I still loved to watch move when she
walked, still loved to rest my hand on at night when we slept.

"Do you IM?" I asked her.

"I have no interest," she sniffed.

"Who recently referred to our DVD player as 'bleeding-edge
technology?'"

"I was quoted out of context."

"Who's the one who still doesn't know how to transfer songs to her
MP3 player?"

She just smiled tartly and said, "Darling, if I could do all of that
myself, whatever would I need you around for?"

I was groping for some witty riposte--something along the lines of why
Shakespeare had chosen the name Kate when he wrote Taming of the
Shrew--when our youngest, our four-year-old son Zach came tumbling into
the room, all sunshine and pluck.  "Mommy!  Come see GalactaMan
fighting Lord Nebuzar!"

"I'll figure out how to use the phone and write it all down for you," I
needled as she scooped him up into her arms.

"I will figure it out by myself," she said haughtily.

"I'll buy you dinner at Emilio's Saturday night if you do," I
challenged her.

"Easy for you to say since you know Theresa's out of town this
weekend."

Oh, damn.  Theresa.  Our long-time, faithful babysitter.  She sat for
us every Saturday night, and because she was so reliable we didn't
have any other sitters to call on for the rare occasions she was gone.

"Next weekend, then," I said.

"When I figure it out," she said, emphasizing the "when," "you'll take
me away overnight."

"Mommy!" said Zack, not to be ignored.  "Please come see my big
battle!"

She swept out of the room, blowing a saucy kiss to me as she went.  I
hadn't gotten the last word, but I did get to watch her hips swish as
she walked away.

A few days later I was at work when my phone rang.

"Mark?" said Kate in a surprised tone when I answered.  "Damn.  This is
supposed to be Amy's number."

"Glad to see you're solving the new phone."

"You better watch it," she growled, and clicked off.

Now, let me explain something.  Kate is not stupid, nor even an
airhead.  She's got two advanced degrees in history and she's the only
person I know who can successfully navigate the emotional terrain of a
two-year-old.  (It comes from living with me all these years, she says
smartly.)  In honest moments I'll admit she's even better with a
screwdriver than I am.  But technology and gadgets are a blind spot for
her.  In contrast, I have a natural affinity for them.  If I like to
lord it over her, it's only because this turn of the tables is so rare.

I love Kate because she's smart, because she's challenging, because
she's kind.  I love her because she carried two miraculous children in
her womb and nurtured them into the loving, fiery young things that
they are.  I love her because she believes in me, in us, in the notion
that we're creating a promising future in a world thirsty for hope.  I
love her because I am a far better man with her than I ever could have
hoped before we met.

And let me tell you: it doesn't hurt that she's a ball of fun to play
with, or that her breasts still respond to the lightest passing of my
fingertip, or that she paints her toenails red for me, or that she does
yoga and sometimes shows off the new ways she can bend, or that when
she gets turned on she likes to open her legs and show me the shiny
pink delicacy she wants me to eat, or that when she comes she sometimes
shouts so loud it scares the cat, or that when I come inside her she
holds herself so fiercely against me it is as if we are sharing the
same skin.

No, those things do not hurt at all.

Saturday came around and Kate said, "I've got some errands to do this
afternoon."

She left after lunch while I was on the floor, getting trounced by Zach
at memory.  Our seven-year-old daughter, Melanie, was at a friend's
house for the afternoon.

It was a beautiful, early-summer day.  A hint of humidity was just
beginning to creep into the sun-drenched sky.  We had the two requisite
family cars now plus another one leftover from pre-kid days: a zippy
little convertible Kate still loved to drive whenever she got the
chance.  She happily set off about her errands with the top down and
the radio up.

Fifteen minutes later Zach had bored of creaming me in memory and had
moved on to Go Fish when the phone rang.

"Hi, Mark!"  Kate's voice was muffled with the noise of the radio and
the wind.  "Zach's your female!"

"Not last time I checked."

"Well check again."

"I assure you, he is all boy," I said, puzzling out this strange topic.

"What?  What are you talking about?"

"He is no female.  What are you talking about?"

She was laughing.  She held the phone closer to her mouth.  "You are so
weird.  I said, check your e-mail."

"E-mail?"

"Gotta go, sweetie!  Love you."  She hung up.

I walked into my office and there was a message in my inbox from
kate9899@worldairwireless.com.  I opened it.  A picture.  The picture
was of Kate.  It was a little shaky because she was holding her phone
in front of her while driving (how extraordinarily safe that was!) and
snapping the picture.  But still it showed her sandy hair whipping
about in the wind, the sun reflecting off her sunglasses, her pearly
whites flashing through a triumphant smile.

So.  She'd learned to use her phone's camera.  And how to e-mail the
picture.  Score one for Kate.

I called her back.  "Too bad Theresa's out of town and can't babysit,
because I owe you at least a dinner at Emilio's."

She sounded disappointed.  "Only partial credit, huh?  I'm holding out
for full credit and the overnight getaway.  Well, maybe I'll make
myself feel better by popping in for a pedicure."

"A pedicure?  But--"

"Hope that's OK, baby," she went on breezily, all sugary sweet.  "And
maybe you should check that e-mail from time to time."

"What--"

But she had hung up.  I dialed her back.  It rang twice and rolled to
voicemail.  "This is Kate!  If you're hearing this message it's because
I pressed the Ignore button when I saw your number, which must mean
this is Mark, and Mark did you know that you can program this phone to
play a special message when you press the Ignore button?  Love you,
baby.  Leave a message if you want but I'm likely busy getting pampered
and shopping, and besides, who knows if I can even figure out how to
answer this newfangled phone?  Bye!"

"Very funny," I growled into the message.  "You won't get away with
this, if I can ever figure out what 'this' is.  Insouciant girls like
you get spankings or worse.  Enjoy your afternoon."

But I was grinning as I hung up.  Score two for Kate.  Plus a little
mystery, to boot.  "Check your e-mail from time to time," is what she'd
said.  I walked by the computer.  A new message from
kate9899@worldairwireless.  Another picture.  The sign for the Oasis
Day Spa, her favorite place to spoil herself.  I hit the reply button
and typed a message similar to the one I'd left on her voicemail.  A
minute later I got a bounceback reply.  "This message automatically
deleted by authority of Queen Kate because the sending address matches
the blacklist criteria.  Have a nice day!"

Score three for Kate.

Zach came into the office.  "Daddy!  Where did you go!  What are you
doing?"

"Right at the moment I'm getting smoked," I said with a rueful shake of
my head.

"I'm waiting to finish Go Fish.  I'm winning."

"You and everyone else," I said, allowing him to lead me back into the
play room.

After Go Fish I managed to save some face by halving with him in a few
games of Rock-Paper-Scissors.

Another message waited in my inbox.  Another photo, a perspective shot.
 A foot.  A hand working on the foot.  One toenail painted.  This time
a brief text message accompanied the photo.  "Do U like red?"  She'd
learned how to type on the keypad of her phone.  Not terribly advanced,
perhaps, but still.

Score three and a half for Kate.

I thought about replying, "YES!!!!"  Kate's toenails fire engine red,
in a pair of sling back sandals, with a nice summer dress, the smooth
skin of her calves wrapping around her knees and along her thighs and
up towards...  I had to shake the rest of the image out of my head.
And I didn't bother to reply, as she'd made it clear this was to be a
monologue.

It was snack time.  I prepared grapes and animal crackers for both of
us.

After snack, two messages.  The first was her foot, all toes now
sparkling red in the sunshine.  And she was obviously done with her
spa, because her foot was resting delicately along the convertible's
stick shift.  Nice image.  Absolutely electrifying suggestion.  At
first I had thought she was just making a point.  Now I began to
wonder: what was she up to?

Score a few more for Kate.

The next message was also just a picture.  The entrance sign to the
mall.  Documenting her continuing journey.

Another picture followed shortly after.  A pile of shoes on the floor.
God.  Kate was a shoe whore.  If she was shopping for shoes she could
be gone days, weeks, months.  I just hoped her sales person had
carbo-loaded at lunch.

Nothing else arrived for a while.  Zach wanted to go outside and play
soccer.  His older sister was showing a true talent for the game and
Zach wanted to do the things she did.  I doubted his natural abilities
but his enthusiasm was undeniable.  On the way out I checked my e-mail.
 Kate's foot, in a mid-heel slingback pump, yellow with blue
polka-dots, adorned with just the cutest polka-dot bow.  The heel was a
bit higher than she often wore, but not out of the question.  I took
particular notice of how smashing her pampered toes looked against the
chipper design.

"Daddy, where are you?"

"Right behind you," I called, grabbing the soccer ball and following
Zach out the door.

He ran until the bridge of his nose beaded with sweat, and when he
asked for water I stopped by the computer again.  A few more messages.

A picture of the sign of her favorite dress store.

A picture of a flirty dress the color of sunflower petals.  The message
said: "Do U think it would look good on me?"

Well, obviously.  My wife arrayed in the colors of wildflowers.  Few
things could be better.

Another message.  A third picture, Kate in the dressing room, wearing
the dress.  "Does it match the shoes?  PS: Did U know this camera has a
self-timer shutter delay?"

So that's how she got herself in the picture.  Score another one for
Kate.  Plus one more because, damn, yes, I liked that dress.  I
especially liked how that dress conformed to her tantalizing curves.
It made me think of what it would be like to hold her close to me while
she was wearing that dress.  To feel the way her breasts snuggled into
my ribcage, to kiss her and run my hands up the backs of her legs to
caress the shapely things the dress concealed, and the lovely treasure
at the center of it all.

And whether it matched the shoes or not I could care less, because I'd
be happy to have her in nothing but the shoes, those cutesy little bows
fluttering like butterflies as I held her legs wide open in the air.

Hell, I was so hot I had to get water for both me and Zach.

When I went back outside Zach had tired of soccer and wanted to play
hide-and-seek.

"Don't you want to go inside?" I asked, thinking it would get me
closer to my e-mail.

"It's a nice day, you should get outside," he said, echoing back the
words I always ushered him out the door with.

"You are cut from your mother's cloth," I grumbled as I closed my eyes
and began counting to twenty.

Thirty minutes later he had found me in every place I tried to hide and
giggled with glee every time I crept past him concealed in his hiding
places.

"That's it," I said.  "I need a break."

"Can I watch a video?" he asked when we got inside.

I looked at my inbox.  Four new e-mails.  "Sure."

A minute later he was on the sofa watching puppets sing songs about
sharing and I scrambled to my keyboard.

First message.  No text.  Just a picture.  A store sign.  Olivia's.
Gulp.  Her favorite lingerie store.  And mine.  Of course, any lingerie
store Kate happened to be within a half-mile of was my favorite.  But
women are more picky about these things and Olivia's stocked a larger
selection of the more conservative bedroom wear that Kate seemed to
favor.  Of course, it also stocked the requisite array of playmate
attire, but I had never prevailed upon my sexy, shapely wife to think
of it as anything but ridiculous.

Second message.  No photo.  Only text.  "Hoping for another picture,
huh?  Naughty boy."

"You don't know the half of it," I muttered, licking the naughty
thoughts off my lips.

Third message.  Kate holding a pair of simple cotton panties.  "Should
I try them on?"

Fourth message.  Kate holding some hangers on which hung a variety of
nightgowns.  "Should I try them on?"

Just then another message came in.  A picture of the dressing room
door.  "Wanna watch?"

Was she serious?  Kate?  Who, the one time I had suggested taking any
sexy photos of her with our digital camera had rejected the notion so
thoroughly that I had never even thought to ask again?  Was I dealing
with the same woman here?

The tease was exquisite.  Too exquisite.  My wife knew how to work me
like a pickpocket worked a carnival crowd.  Already flush with her
game, I felt my cock begin to stir into life.  Oh, God.  What was I,
eighteen?  Did Kate know what she was doing to me?

Of course she did, as the next message confirmed.  She was using the
self-timer again, and the picture was of her in an outrageous red
number, high-cut at the hips, low-cut at the breasts, her cleavage
outlined in faux leopard fur, garter clips loose along her thighs.  The
expression on her face was something between amusement and
embarrassment.  The text only said, "Dream on!"

Still!  The image!  My wife all tarted up, even in a low-res camera
phone picture, made me squirm, trying to find some room in my shorts to
accommodate my erection.  I didn't know who was more embarrassed: Kate
alone in her dressing room wearing some ridiculous negligee, or me,
alone at my computer keyboard, struggling like an adolescent against
this boner in my pants.

The next picture arrived a minute later.  The red playmate teddy was
gone, replaced by one that was obviously see-through white lace.  And,
yes, even with the spotty resolution I could clearly see the dark
circles of her areola and the even darker patch of her pubic hair
shadowing under the white lace.  "Too scratchy," was all her text said.

But then there was another quick one, this time from above, closer in
to her breasts, that clearly showed their shape inside the lace, and
just as clearly showed the outline of an excited nipple.  "Oh, my.
Lace keeps brushing this!"

The fact that this game was exciting her turned me on even more.  I was
full into fantasy about what I would do to her after we got the kids to
bed, how I would make her pay so deliciously for the torment she was
causing me.  Perhaps I would tie her up and stroke her entire body with
ice until she shivered with cold, then warm her slowly with my tongue,
reveling in the spread of her legs, the blushing lips of her pussy
slowly swelling, turning out in ragged ripeness, awash in her nectar.
I knew exactly how her inner folds would taste to my probing tongue,
exactly how those fattened lips would spread between my lips when I
sucked them into my mouth.  Almost unconsciously I was reaching out
with my tongue, searching for the turbo button of her clitoris,
swirling around its pearly circumference, sucking its firmness into my
mouth, nipping with my teeth, driving my lovely Kate crazy, just crazy,
in repayment for the exquisite torture she was currently administering.

I was returned from my reverie by the chime of the next incoming
message.

Alas, gone were the fantasy nighties, replaced by one more her speed, a
simple chemise-style gown, mid-thigh length, cut a bit low in front to
give a hint of cleavage.  "Disappointed?" read the caption.

Well, hell.  How could I really be disappointed?  It was a picture of
my wife in negligee, and even if it wasn't the stuff of centerfold
fantasies, it was what made her feel sexy, and that, by extension, made
it sexy to me.

Another message followed quickly.  This time she had turned around,
lifted the nightgown high enough to reveal a flash of her beautiful
round bottom.  I was so shocked at the fact that she was baring herself
this way and so titillated by the sight of her naked skin on my
computer screen that it took me a minute to realize she was not, in
fact, unadorned, that she was wearing, ohmigod!  A thong!  My holy
grail of sexy underwear!  Kate almost never wore them because she
thought her butt was too big and she complained that they creeped and
crept into all of her crevices.  It was the same pair she'd been
holding a few pictures ago, only I hadn't been able to tell from the
front view what it was like in the back, but now I could see the
tell-tale triangle that branched out into the two thicker bands that
circled her hips and the thin back ribbon that did its electrifying
disappearing act into the deep groove of her butt.  Thank God for
camera phones with self-timers!  She'd typed, "Still disappointed?" and
in parentheses afterwards, "Remember our 1st thong?"

How could I ever forget?  It was etched in my memory like it was last
night, even though it had been nearly fifteen years ago.  It was our
honeymoon, and one evening we had been at dinner sharing a bottle wine
and flirting until we were aching to scamper back to our hotel room.  I
had kissed Kate fiercely on the ride up the elevator, pinning her
against the wall, holding her there with the pressure of my stiff dick
while I ran my hands over her entire body.  When I slid them underneath
her dress I felt at first only the bare skin of her bottom and only
after a moment's further exploration did I realize that she was not, in
fact, without underwear, but wearing a thong.

After she'd allowed me to make my discovery she wriggled away from me
and said, "Surprised, lover?"

"What?" I stammered with arousal and surprise.  "How?"  Even at that
point I knew her strong feelings about thongs.

"A little treat for my new husband," she said, kissing me again.

When we arrived at our room she wouldn't let me touch her.  Without
saying anything she took off her dress and her bra, leaving the thong
as her only adornment.  Then she'd laid down on the bed, face down, and
folded a pillow beneath her hips in a way that proffered her thong-clad
ass in an almost ceremonial fashion.

Only then did she speak.  "You're my husband and I'm your wife and I
want us to always be best friends and partners and still always lovers,
so explore me now and don't ever stop."

It was, perhaps, the sexiest thing she'd ever said to me.  We were no
ideological newlyweds.  We'd slept together almost from the beginning
of our relationship.  But now she was offering me the opportunity to
linger over her for a lifetime, to discover in her the tiniest places
of joy and desire.

I took her up on it from that moment and have tried never to stop.

I took off all of my clothes and kissed her all along the outline of
her body, in the warm nape of her neck, along the strong outline of her
shoulders, down the ticklish flesh along the side of her torso to the
widening of her hips.  I kissed her lightly over the compliant flesh of
her butt, down the backs of her legs, her calves, her heels, the soles
of her feet and her toes, taking them one by one into my mouth for a
brief suck before moving on.

I repeated the process with each of her ten fingers, placing kisses as
well on the diamond-and-sapphire band of her wedding ring.  The entire
time she was silent, still, responding only with the heightened drawing
of her breath.

I kissed my way up her arms and again across the top of her shoulders
until I returned to the place at the nape of her neck where I had
begun.  More insistent now I began to dabble down the ridged path of
her spine to where the waistband of the thong met her sacral dimples.
Reaching out further with my tongue I followed the disappearing trail
of the thong, gliding along her bottom cleft, eliciting for the first
time a slight wiggle of embarrassment that turned into a full squeal
when I probed at the thin ribbon concealing her asshole.

Hungry now for her in a way I could never remember being, I straddled
her back, my knees at her shoulders, and plunged my face into her ass.
She screamed and squirmed but I had her now in a place where my weight
and my leverage constrained her movements.  After a moment she gave up
with a moan that betrayed her true state of arousal.  She was there,
beneath me, her ass still tipped up from the pillow she'd folded
underneath her.  When the thong reappeared between her legs it flared
out into a tight sheath that formed almost exactly around the shape of
her cunt.  Positioned as she was, Kate's pussy rose in an elongated
mound in the space between her legs.  Her engorgement had caused the
thin material to swell around her pussy lips and dead center the fabric
had darkened with her lubricating moisture.

It was too much of a meal for me to resist.  I licked the length of the
cotton, feeling the outlines of her labia yielding underneath and
getting the merest hint of her taste as I passed over the wet spot.
Now, instead of squirming to get away, she was squirming against me,
rubbing the crotch of the thong against my face.  I tongued her like
that until the fabric was wet with my saliva and her juices.  Kate
continued to buck her hips up at me, encouraging me with the throaty
sounds of her pleasure.

Finally I pulled the damp fabric aside and thrust my face into her
naked cunt.  The depth of my tongue inside her sent her into a fresh
wave of moans.  My face, my lips, my nose, were all sparkling with the
wellspring of her passion.  I moved even lower, grazing her clit,
trying to pull it into my mouth, but the angle was wrong for that.

Kate writhed in frustrated attempts to direct her clitoris to my tongue
until finally, in one swift motion, she turned herself over onto her
back.  The pillow fell out to the side.  She lifted her hips at the
same time I made to remove the thong altogether.  As soon as I had
skimmed it past her feet her legs fell open and I made sure they'd stay
that way, placing my elbows behind each of her knees as I sank back
down to eat her again.

I teased her a little bit more and she returned the favor, taking first
one and then the other of my balls gently into her mouth, sucking them
just to the point of pain before releasing them again.  I went back to
her clit and now that it was wide open I got it where I wanted it, firm
in my lips, to suck and lick and flick.

Kate ran a hand along my aching cock.  She pulled it down so that she
could suck the head.  Her tongue was so fiery I thought I would explode
like that in her mouth.  But she was close, too, I could tell by the
clenching in her muscles.  She was so open.  So wide open.  I plunged a
finger into her pussy and with it thoroughly lubricated pressed it
against her asshole.

We had never done anything like it before, Kate being the hygienic
type.  I never would have attempted it if I hadn't been so crazed with
lust.  But instead of demurring Kate made a new sound, a primitive
sound, as my finger slid inside her ass.  I fucked her ass with that
finger as I sucked her clit.  She released the head of my cock and
cried out.  She buried her face against my thigh and as I felt her
asshole clamping down around my finger she came so violently that her
fingernails dug deeply into my flesh and she bit the inside of my thigh
so sharply that I yelped.

Kate reached again to pull my cock down to her mouth but as soon as her
fingers circled my shaft I felt my orgasm welling forth.  I wanted to
come inside her so I scrambled frantically around until I had reversed
my position on top of her.  I pressed forward and at the instant I felt
her velvety depths drawing me in, I began to come.  She pulled me close
and locked her limbs around me in a vicegrip as I came and came inside
her.

When I could focus again to look down at her, she was looking at me
with warmth and satisfaction.  We held each other's gaze for a minute.
Then she laughed.  "That was quite the acrobatic maneuver there at the
end.  You get too excited?  You almost lose control?"

"How could I not, when you give me everything like that?"

"You're the only one I'm giving it to," she said, then she gave me a
playful punch on the shoulder, "and I'd better still be able to make
you lose control ten and twenty and thirty and forty years from now,
got it?"

"Perfectly," I had said that night years ago.

And now, staring at Kate dishing up a thong on my computer monitor, I
realized her words still rang true: she could still make me lose
control every bit as completely as she had on our honeymoon.

"Daddy?" came Zach's voice from behind me.

I jumped and scrambled to minimize the window that showed his mother
flashing her ass at me.

"The video's over."

"Already?" I said, looking at the clock.  Good grief.  It was nearly
five o'clock.

"Can I watch another one?"

I smiled and picked him up.  "I think that's enough for now."

A car pulled up.  I hopped to the window hoping it was Kate.  I sure
did want to see her after all that.  But it was our daughter, Melanie,
being dropped off from her afternoon playdate.

"Melanie!" cried Zach, scrambling out of my arms and to the front door,
eager to see his sister.

I waved at her friend's mother from the front door, afraid to actually
walk down and speak to her, as would have been the polite thing to do.
I still felt hot and bothered from Kate's e-mail flirting and I was
probably not fit for public presentation just yet.

Melanie came in with Zach holding tightly to her hand.

"Hi, Daddy," she said, smiling.  She was going to be beautiful like her
mother, and I wondered how any boy would ever be good enough for her.

"Did you have a nice afternoon?"

She was telling me in detail about the house they had built of sofa
cushions in hopes that her friend's cat would take up residence when
the front door opened.  I had already opened my mouth to greet Kate
when I saw it wasn't Kate at all, but our faithful babysitter, Theresa.

Zach and Melanie cheered and ran to her.

"I thought you were out of town," I said.

She gave me a quizzical look.  "That got canceled.  Didn't Kate tell
you?"

"Uh, I guess I forgot," I said, even though I knew that if Kate had
told me, I'd have remembered.

"Are you spending the night?" asked Melanie, and I saw that Theresa had
an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

"I sure am," said Theresa.

"Yay!" said Zach, breaking into an exuberant dance around the entrance
hall.

I looked at Theresa blankly.  "You are?"

"Unless your plans have changed," she said, her quizzical look
deepening to one of puzzlement.

A lightbulb went off in my head.  Maybe the first one all day.  "Hold
on," I said, trotting into my office.

Sure enough, two last e-mail messages awaited me.  The first one was a
picture of the sign outside Emilio's restaurant.  "7:00pm," Kate had
typed.

The next was a picture of the nicest hotel in town, the Riverside
Plaza.  The accompanying text message only said, "I win."

I emerged to find Theresa and the kids already ensconced in the family
room.  "No change in the plans," I announced.

"Awesome!" said Theresa, relieved that I'd found my bearings after all.
 "I haven't gotten to do an overnight with the kids in way too long."

I looked at my watch.  It was almost 5:30 and I needed to get cleaned
up, pack a bag.  I had a debt to pay and a date to keep.  The woman I
was meeting would be easy to find.  She would be the most beautiful
woman at Emilio's, the one with the sunflower dress and the polka-dot
pumps, and the fancy-dancy new cell phone she had figured out how to
work all by herself.