On more leisurely mornings (or those where he's nicked me with the razor) he'll sometimes soak a washcloth in the stuff and press it painfully into my...crotch, leaving the stinging astringent to fester as he readies himself for work. Or, if in a particularly cruel mood, take the razor strop and deliver, without warning, one full-strength stroke right across my bare sex. Sometimes two. Nothing I can do, being bound defenseless. You can see why I dread mornings. But shaving is the least of my. . what had it been? No matter. It was her fault. She just wouldn't listen to him. Nobody listened to him.His wife, Georgia, was laying on the floor, one eye swollen shut, whenVictor heard a voice say, "Don't seem you respect your marriage much."Victor turned on the voice, but saw nothing, until he heard, "Down here."Victor looked down and saw a two foot man, dressed all in green."Who are you?" he demanded."Patty, the leprechaun." Right. Leprechaun or not, no one insults me in my own. More

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