Addicts

Wyatt always had beer in his hand.  If it wasn't a can of lager, it was a cigarette.

"Well, I don't smoke in the house.  Cept the bathroom."

I could hear the slider open.  Walking as quickly as not to be obvious, far away from Wyatt, my inner guidance system was on full alert.

And it wasn't just his sexual comments made in a group setting.  Wyatt wasn't able to filter.  Period.  He thought it was cool.  Even joked that he needed 'fixin.'

Beth wasn't about to fix anyone.  It wasn't her job.  She would, however, observe.

Outside a half a dozen times walking the canines, the interaction became obvious.  The ole biddies even began to stare.  With nothing in their life but pills and a visit with a physician, anything, absolutely anything was fodder for them.  Include a man on the prowl.  A predator.

You don't make it past your teens without observing predator behavior.  Those addicted kinds of people who can't get past themselves.  They live out of a package ~ cigarettes, booze, pills.  They feed on drama.  Just look at who is in their lives.  Who repeatedly appears.  Same ole personalities. They're addicted as much as the predator though they, too, wouldn't admit it.

Their addictions are observable in their sexual behavior.  Positioning themselves about to pounce, I could hardly keep from laughing.

Beth was more than ready to play with him.  Expose him.  Stand true to herself.  And she did.

Wyatt overheard that Beth was looking for a particular town.

"I can show it to you," he would say for months.

Of course, he would never show it to her.  He didn't have the courage.  He knew she was out of his reach.  Permanently.

"Ya know, I had me a stent put in last year.  Nearly died," he said puffing away.

Beth was silent.  But her mind was in more than disgust.  It was then that she called me.

"So what do you think?"

"Hon, if you have to ask you deserve him."