She continued dancing, taking quick glances at the man at the bar, until another girl came out and Angel backed off the stage and back into the back r...oom.She pulled a few bills from her hot pants and bra, uncrinkling them. She pulled her grey shorts back on, over the hot pants. Surprisingly, they covered her better.“Where’s Rich?” she asked one of the other girls.“Heavens.”Heavens were the upper floors of the clubs where the owners of the clubs and the owners of the girls usually stayed. Out of. Fidel Castro and Chuck Berry were born that year too - just in case you have an interest in such trivia.But to get back to what I was saying – it really was Christmas Eve. Now, for those readers who have kept a handle on things, you will be aware that I recently re-married a very young American girl and that accordingly, I shifted base from Australia to the tumbleweed-strewn heart of America. Geographically we are as close to the center of Northern USA as makes no difference.Old enough to be. I put them on, and then pulled out my absolutely favorite pair of jeans. I slowly put them on. Laura came out of the shower, just as I finished buttoning them. I turned to look at her and noticed she only had her body covered in a towel. "Those look good on you," she said. "Thanks," I said smiling, "they're my favorite pair." I walked over to my closet, and started searching through my shirts, and blouses. Laura dressed behind me, putting on her clothes from the day before. She looked at. ‘How do you make it moist?’ I asked. ‘Oil,’ was the reply. ‘Coconut.’ ‘I use butter,’ I texted. ‘That would work too,’ Cathy said. ‘But if you’re really good you don’t need to use anything,’ I continued. We kept going back and forth with vaguely veiled food analogies for a while, discussing spices, pie and whip cream and how variety keeps things interesting. ‘Just all this talk of food is making me big,’ I texted. It was but it wasn’t my already slightly pudgy stomach I was really referring.