That...”“Careful with your words, now!” my dad called from his recliner in the den.Lynette was almost in tears as I replied, “Yes, Sir!” tow...ards the den.“Are you a cabbage roll person, Lynette?” my mom asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.“Luv ‘em!” my girlfriend exclaimed prior to taking a big bite of her muffin.“That’s it! We’re done! Finished!” I cried as I leaned away from Lynette with a disgusted look on my face.“You’re dumpin’ me? ... Over cabbage rolls?” Lynette incredulously. If she is free in the evening she calls me and invites me to her house. This is to hear my guitar playing. Her mother also accompanies us. Then she asks me to play some of her Bollywood favorites most of the time melodies. Weekly 2-3 times she invites me. She read books when I am playing for her.I don’t have any problem with this. The main thing is that my moat of the pocket money source is the person who is sitting in front of me. She always cares about her dressing. Most of the time she wears. Even as the lights changed, she looked across to where the woman had her lips pressed to the window, her tongue flickered out and licked at the imprint of her own lipstick.The next victim was a lorry driver who she overtook and then pulled back when she realised he was young and quite good looking, keeping one hand on the throttle she took the other into her mouth and nipped the glove off with her teeth, his face was a picture as she sat back and allowed him to see as she slipped the hand into. "I think I could talk better if I wasn’t so ... so exposed."He dismissed the subject with an impatient wave of the hand. But his smile was again that of the boy she had met upon the road. "Young Terry’s a chatterbox," he confided. "She has to sparkle. We’ll get to wherever we are going better without her." So you just chain her up and leave her standing on one foot?" What else? Besides, she loves it. Surely you saw that."Dorinda had seen it all too clearly. It made her next question inevitable..