At the grocery checkout, while Sammy is watching the register and telling the clerk paper not plastic, Donna picks up one of those women’s magazines. A few minutes later, the sacks of groceries safely stashed on the backseat of their little car (because the trunk is stuffed with Sammy’s hockey gear and their camping and climbing equipment), Donna brings the magazine with her to the passenger seat.

“What’s with that?” Sammy says, as they pulled out of the parking lot. “I didn’t know you read that stuff.”

“I had the urge, that’s all,” Donna says, struggling a bit to buckle her seatbelt while holding onto the magazine. “You know how urges are.” She ends up setting the magazine on her lap. Sammy studies the glossy cover.

“Hmm, more and better orgasms, is that what you’re looking for?” Sammy says.

Casually, Donna snatches up the magazine. “Do you think I need more and better orgasms?”

“Do you?”

“I think we’re going around in circles,” Donna says.

“No, we’re not, we’re going home.”

“Ha ha. You know what I mean. Anyway, where did you see anything about more and better orgasms?”

Sammy shrugs. “Isn’t that in every issue? Along with how to win the man of your dreams.”

“Well, let’s see,” Donna says, opening the magazine, rifling a few pages. “Here’s something. The power of words. What word would your lover use to describe your breasts?”

“Beautiful,” Sammy says without hesitation.

“No, you’re supposed to pick a euphemism. Like tits, or boobies, or bosoms, or bazoomers.”

“Bazoomers? Yikes!”

“You really think my breasts are beautiful, even though they’re not bazoomers?”

“I do,” Sammy says. And then, “But maybe you should lift your top up—just to refresh my memory.”

“Oh, no,” Donna says. “You keep your eyes on the road, buster.”

“Does it really say bazoomers?” Sammy asks.

Donna smiles. “Nope, I made that up. I made up the whole thing.”

“I don’t believe you. Make another one up.”

“Okay. Donna turns a page in the magazine. “When you’re giving your guy a BJ, what is it you have in your mouth?”

“BJ?” Sammy says.

“Blow job.”

“I knew that. I was just wondering why they called it BJ instead of blow job.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Donna says. “Like I said, I’m making all this stuff up.”

“Okay,” Sammy says. “So what would you call it?”

“I wouldn’t call it anything,” Donna says. “It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”

Just then the car in front of them stops short. Sammy has to jam on the brakes to avoid a collision. The grocery sacks in the backseat topple. Celery, carrots, squash and the rest of the soup stuff spill out.

“You all right?” Sammy asks.

“I guess so.”

“Why did he stop like that?”

“Probably a squirrel darted in the road. Or a pothole.”

Donna chuckles. “A pothole darted in the road?”

“Yes, those little beasts can be tricky.”

Sammy has the car underway again. Donna unbuckles her seatbelt and leans over the seat to pick up the vegetables and replace them in the paper sacks.

“You have a nice ass,” Sammy says.

“Thank you,” Donna says. “One of the tomatoes rolled under your seat. I can’t quite reach it.”