Mrs. McLaughlin, Dennis' wife, came down the stairs to find a hastily-dressed gorgeous young tart in her kitchen rifling through her pantry.
Mrs. McLaughlin - Andrea - was no pretty picture, after only a few years of marriage. She had gained a great deal of weight, started to wrinkle up, and let her hair get fried by perm after perm, and excessive hairspray. She was no longer the sweet young lady Dennis had married all those years ago, now more of a bitter, disagreeable wench. Dennis wasn't all that fond of her anymore, to say the least.
Dennis froze like a deer in the headlights. She struggled to come up with an explanation, but her usually sharp tongue was failing her.
To Andrea, the presence of a gorgeous young woman could only mean one thing.
"All right then," Andrea told her, "The agency sent you over? Come on up to the bedroom, let's get this over with."
Mrs. M waddled back up the stairs as Dennis couldn't believe what she was hearing.
THIS was what his own wife was spending his hard-earned cash on?
She mulled it over for a bit. Better the money go to him than some professional tramp. There were worse things in life than being paid to have an affair with one's own wife. She followed her unsuspecting wife up the stairs.
"It should be the easiest cash I ever made."
