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the washer so…” I paused to reshuffle my cards, not because I didn’t know what I had, but to see Jay’s reaction. He watched me like a dog tracking a steak, and then he sat back and looked at his own cards in disgust. So his was that good a hand? I thought.
    I continued out loud. “So when I leaned out the window to wave to Brian, you know, give him a little thrill while he was working in the backyard?—I was wearing a more festivevariation on my usual undergarments. Recreational, shall we say?”
    “You were wearing your date bra,” Carla said.
    “Alas, yes. I was wearing my lucky leopard-print bra—”
    “Lucky Brian, more like. A matching ensemble, perhaps?”
    “No, more’s the pity. Not that that would have helped anything, because as I was leaning out to wave, I did not realize that Brian’s friend Roddy had dropped by to pick up some reports. No, it was Roddy who got my blinding smile and animal-printed cleavage.”
    “What did you do?” Lissa asked.
    “What could I do? I faced it out. I just kept waving and said, ‘Hi, Roddy, tell Brian to take out the trash when he comes back, would you’? Then I quietly collapsed under the window in a fit of mortification.”
    Jay was torn between what was clearly a fabulous hand and getting the lowdown on this heretofore unsuspected element of housecleaning. “But what were you wearing below the wai—below the windowsill?”
    “Ah, that’s where I was glad that we don’t have a balcony with French doors or anything that posh. I told you it was laundry day; I was wearing a pair of Brian’s plaid flannel boxers. It was quite a rig, let me tell you.”
    Carla took a swig of beer. “Sounds comfortable.”
    “It is,” I said. “Why do they always make men’s clothing so much more comfortable and durable than women’s clothing?”
    “Don’t forget cheaper,” Chris added.
    “It’s a conspiracy,” I said.
    “I can’t believe you’d wear any men’s clothing,” Lissa said primly. “I mean, yeah, maybe for kicks in bed, but it’s just…I don’t know…weird to wear it in public.”
    “I’m still dealing with the fact that she was half naked in front of a man,” Scott said.
    “Oh, come off it. I wear less on the beach,” Lissa said.
    “You wear less to the supermarket,” Scott retorted.
    “The beach is a different context,” Brad said. “You don’t just hang out at home naked, do you?”
    We all exchanged looks. “Not naked, but not always dressed for company,” I conceded. The rest of them nodded: that sounded about right.
    “It’s different when you have kids. Don’t get me wrong,” Chris said. “I don’t want mine to be prudes, but I don’t want them in therapy either, seeing dear old dad scratching and grinning in the altogether.”
    “Can we please get back to playing cards!” Jay was ready to blow a gasket.
    “Sure,” I said. “Coming around. How many you want?”
    I dealt cards to Lissa and Carla. Jay made a reluctant show of holding; I held my breath and took one.
    “Man, can you get over Roche, with his ‘Julius Gilbert Garrisons’?” Lissa said. “Talk about your constant refrain! Julius Gilbert Garrison this, Julius Gilbert Garrison that, we are here today to honor a man who—”
    “Who has caused more shrinks to retire early,” Chris filled in, “fat on the pickings of desperate archaeology students—”
    “Who has been a bigger setback to women’s self-images than airbrushing—” I added.
    “Who is more steadfastly evil a villain than Darth Vader, Hannibal Lector, and Hitler all rolled into one,” Carla finished.
    I glanced over at Scott; he was doing his best to keep his head down and was noticeably quiet.
    “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Lissa said. “I like the guy, I just thought Roche’s butt-kissing was a bit florid.”
    I looked at her sharply. “You like which guy? Not old Roche?”
    “He’s all right, but I was talking about Garrison,” Lissa said.
    “The man’s a