Bill slept with his ex-wife for nearly twenty-two years. I am embarrassed beyond words to tell you that I have slept with her, too. Let me lay it out for you.
On Thanksgiving, Bill's daughter invited her sister's family and her parents to her home for dinner. We sat around and watched big-screen football games.
Bill's ex-wife and I complained that we don't get it anymore.
We ate a big dinner.
She and I, elbow to elbow, washed and dried the dishes.
And then everyone else, five kids and six adults went to the diningroom to play Phase 10, a long-lasting, noisy card game.
That is when it happened. She and I were alone in the living room and ...
Bill's ex-wife and I slept together.
Bill's ex-wife and I slept, together.
Bill's ex-wife and I slept, together, after Thanksgiving dinner.
Bill's ex-wife and I slept, together, after Thanksgiving dinner, in the livingroom.
Bill's ex-wife and I slept, together, after Thanksgiving dinner, in the livingroom, on separate couches.
And now it is a scandal; someone took a picture of us, curled up, together, after Thanksgiving dinner, in the livingroom, on separate couches.
She is a very nice woman and we get along well. (No offense intended.)
There you have it.
The moral of my story: use your commas, and be careful of tabloid headings, unless you are trying to reel your reader in, and then you'd better be careful that you can pull it off, or you might tick them off. See what I mean?
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