Stuck-Up Suit(86)

--Poopface in Manhattan



I pressed send, and Soraya’s phone chimed. I watched as she read the message I’d just sent—not to Ida’s email account—but directly to her.

She was sitting right next to me in bed with her big, beautiful tits hanging out as she fed our son, Lorenzo.

Lucky kid. He’s doing what I’d like to be doing right now.

She laughed to herself then typed away on her phone for a while before hitting send.

My phone vibrated.



Dear Poopface,

Perhaps a better name for you would be Sleepless in Manhattan because from the sound of your rambling message…you are wired. I think while you are “deliriously happy,” your son keeping you awake is turning you into part zombie, part spaz. By the way, no one has ever looked sexier with shit on their face, but please wipe it off. That said, you are officially the best father in the world to our children, Chloe and Lorenzo. That poop on your forehead right now is just another example of that. I’ve never loved you more. I’m starting to realize that if making it legal means that much to you, then it’s the least I could do to thank you. I say tomorrow we head down to city hall and make me a Morgan.

Love always, Mrs. Morgan in Manhattan.

P.S. We’ll take the train.



THE END