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Probing was one thing, but being cut up and dissected into little pieces was something Larry planned to avoid if at all possible.
    “Who have you got in there, Larry?” She stomped her foot, giving her shoulder length blond hair a flip. Back when they were in high school, that little flipping-her-hair move always gave Larry’s heart a little flip. Now the only thing it caused to flip was his middle finger.
    “No. It isn’t anybody you know. It’s a … a guy I met recently. He was interested in, um, how we raise cattle and I was showing him around the place. He goes by Scooter.”
    “Bullshit, Larry.”
    “That’s out behind the barn. You remember which pasture the bulls use, right?”
    “Don’t lie to me, Larry. You aren’t telling me everything.”
    “You don’t tell me everything either. Remember? We’re divorced and I don’t have to tell, so there.”
    “I do too tell you everything.”
    “Do not.”
    “Do, too — when you ask politely.”
    “Who was the last guy you gave a blowjob to, Nancy? It’s been so long that I know it wasn’t me. Besides, I put great-grandma’s pearl necklace in a safe deposit box at the bank.”
    Whether Nancy had had enough verbal banter or the news that the necklace was out of reach mattered, she stomped back down the porch steps, climbed into her beat up old four-door sedan, and spun the tires hard enough they threw gravel halfway to the old root cellar door.
    Larry sighed. He’d hoped to convince Nancy to swap a few bucks or some of her old clothes for a bit of post-marital coitus the next time she’d come around, but having Scooter passed out from whatever he sniffed up his nose kind of put the damper on his plans. Nancy might have agreed to participate in a little bed sheet mambo, but climbing into the house through Larry’s bedroom window just to avoid going through the living room was a bit much for her big city sensibilities.
    Once the dust cloud from Nancy’s car passed by old lady Simpkins place, he went back into the living room. According to the clock on the wall, Larry had a lot of time left to get things done around the place before sundown. He shook his head knowing he was done working for the day. His head felt a little muzzy from the two beers.
    He had out of town guests, really far out of town. And the clock hadn’t worked anyway since Grandpa threw it at the television the last time the Chiefs lost a football game. So, not going back to work was the first order of business. Getting another beer was second.
    Unfortunately, the refrigerator wasn’t feeling cooperative and was out of beers. It offered him a variety of long-since fermented beverages like milk, tomato juice, and even a small can of prune juice that Larry didn’t even realize he owned, but no beer. His fridge was obstinate that way. They liked each other well enough that the fridge never thought about quitting and Larry never thought about replacing it. Still, it never seemed to have what Larry wanted, when he wanted it.
    He peeked back in the living room at Scooter. The little beastie was snoozing comfortably, sort of. Larry lifted Scooter’s legs up and pushed the ottoman closer to the chair. The little alien dropped his medi-pen onto the floor, letting it slip through uncontrolled fingers, exactly like Larry’s beer bottles usually fell to the floor after a long hot day and a short cold six-pack. He hoped the pen didn’t leak like a half-empty beer normally did.
    Not that Larry was worried about the twenty-year-old carpet. It’d been scrounged from the Racine’s Bar and Girls backroom when Racine remodeled. It already smelled like beer and still showed the deep dimples from where Racine’s pool table sat, or would show the dimples if Larry hadn’t strategically placed his furniture over them. The arrangement made the carpet happy as it was tad bit vain and wasn’t a fan of dimples, though it never noticed its own smell, always blaming the bad odor on Ol’ Bucky.
    Larry put