She marches into the waffle house and straight to his spot at the counter. He doesn't look up; when she taps her foot against the hard floor, he still doesn't look up.
"Damn it, Rube."
He takes a long pause and then looks up at her. "Yes, Peanut?" he asks in his most patient---and dangerous---tone.
"I need you to stop telling men I'm mentally unstable!"
"I stopped that a long time ago, Georgie."
"Don't call me that!" she yelps.
"Sit down," he orders quietly. "Sit and have some of my fries."
"Rube---"
"Sit."
George sighs and sits down next to him.
"I didn't tell that Jason guy that you're insane."
"No?" she replies, voice hot and angry. "What did you tell him? Huh? Because he stood me up! My self-esteem can't take much more of this abuse! It's been ten years of this shit! I want a relationship with someone---however short it is!"
He turns and looks at her. "I didn't tell him that you're insane."
"That you're my parole officer?"
"No..."
"Then, what?!" she snaps.
He smiles, very slowly. Then he touches her cheek with one of his hands. George shivers and looks at him.
"What did you tell this guy," she whispers.
"I told him that you're my wife."
George's jaw drops as she stares at him. He smiles and kisses her lips soundly, shocking her even more than his statement.
As she struggles to process the last thrity seconds of her undead life, he throws a couple of bills on the counter and picks up his hat.
