how's your love life?

your neighbor,
in her bathrobe,
her lips around an
almost empty
bottle of
pinot noir
knocks at your door
and asks you
if she could borrow
some clam
dip.
she's having a guest
over soon,
and doesn't have
time to go to the
store.
you tell her to hold
on. you open
the refrigerator
and scan the shelves.
no clam dip, you
tell her.
this makes her cry.
she sits
down on the porch.
do you mind if I smoke,
she asks,
taking out a pack
of cigarettes.
I don't even like clam
dip, she tells you
blowing smoke
into the darkening
sky. I don't know
why I told him I
would make it. he loves
clam dip.
what kind of man
makes that kind of
a request to a woman?
I don't think I can
date men anymore, she
says, wiping her
eyes with her terry
cloth sleeve.
what about you, she
says. how's your love
life?