A fresh pail of red barbecue sauce sat on the chef’s counter, ready to marinate overnight. The gluey liquid was lathered on dozens of orders of baby back ribs before they were grilled over flaming logs. I recall thinking, as I brushed on my rouge and applied creamy lipstick for the night shift, that the difference between the calves and myself was measurable. The instant the thought occurred, though, I dismissed it. I wondered at myself. Where did these bizarre thoughts come from? It was the day Stan told me he wanted to take a psychology course at the university. Here I was waitressing nights to keep us afloat and my husband wanted to take a pricey university psychology course about ‘s …
My sociopathic husband and mind control manipulationRead More