Playboy Mansion South -Chasing Bunnies and Eating Rabbits

Every day I ran to the mailbox to see if my invitation to the upcoming nuptials had arrived.  What would I wear?  Should I get my hair done?  Could I lose 25 lbs and 30 years in time for the event?  How did those escort service things work? Would there be a pre-nup?  Are they worth the paper they are written on?   Questions, questions and more questions. Then before the invitation to the event of a lifetime arrived,  my accountant called from Alabama.  She had a few questions about the dissolution of our family corporation.  My ex and I had maintained joint ownership of our business and now everything was his. At least from a business (and debt) standpoint.   We talked for a while, she saying she was so very concerned about me; how were things? We talked about all the calls "Miss Evil Something" had made to me, how many times I blocked emails only to find a new user name stomping on me. She asked if I had talked to my neighbors, how were things going with my ex, really??? I said I hadn't and that I just didn't really know how they would feel talking to me about all this.  Well, she thought that they would love to talk to me. In fact, she said that they were talking to everyone in Alabama about what was happening at my house on Lake Martin. Charter Communications was just thrilled at the long distance communication coming from our area.  My predicament might actually save the entire company from bankruptcy. Demand for the Internet was way up.  It seemed that quite a few "old dried up women" like me were angry at their husbands for spending too much time trolling in our pristine slough. Supposedly for fish. Wondering did she have a sister?  Apparently Miss Evil seemed to spend an enormous amount of time sunning on the pier. Very small bathing suits are not uncommon at Lake Martin and any old coot could get an eye full, but most people felt uncomfortable seeing a 62 year old man groping a 22 year old girl floating on an old l8-wheeler tube drinking Bud lite.  It looked like something going on at the Playboy Mansion. Southern style. The "dried up old men" were having a field day and not bringing home any fish. To the "old dried up" Christian women in Alabama, Hugh Hefner is not an idol.  He is just another ugly old man chasing young women.  Mothers of small children were struggling to keep their little ones indoors during the day and domestic disturbances were way up. Even the male dogs were barking like some bitch was in heat in the neighborhood. Also the girl had a run in with one of the neighbors (one of the "dried up Christian variety") and had used the old let me expose myself routine to shut her up.  You know that ended the discussion and not in a pretty way. The police had been called to the house at least twice.  The house was falling apart, my ex and his love were single handily bringing property values down in the neighborhood.  The loud music, fighting, fussing, drunkenness on the pier and police sirens were getting on every one's nerves. Not to mention the groping.  Tons of people had found the house as party central when my ex was away. Tons of cars in the driveway. Mostly old cheap ones (the cars and the visitors). I asked about the wedding and she said, "Oh, I don't think that's happening". It seemed the last time the police were called there had actually been a little domestic violence mentioned. Now let me say, I was not delighted.  I am not a mean and vengeful person.  But I swear I did feel just a tiny bit giddy as I hung up the phone. There's nothing like a little blood(his) shed to cement a "we are in love" relationship.  I waited now not for the invitation to the wedding  but for the phone call I knew would come. Surely he'd see the error of his way and come home.  Surely he'd want me back.  After all "we were in love".