A BARE STAGE WILL SUFFICE

Monologue in one act. Speaker is a fifty-something male.

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She and her partner in plastic trumped my Master Card but good! I'm out 12G's and then some.

Serves me right. I never should have bullied her into it. Not that I'd threatened to leave her otherwise. In fact, I'd put a completely positive spin on it. All I said was how hot she'd look, why not make the most of herself, we had the money, after all, seemed a shame not to, such a simple procedure.

She was dead-set against it. "I'd look ridiculous. Everyone would know they were fake. Even people who hadn't known me before would be able to tell straight off they were fake."

"They do great work," I'd assured her. "They'll look completely natural. Everyone has them nowadays. Really. Nobody will think anything of it."

She'd snapped at me. "What looks 'natural' is what I've got. Which is natural for my age. Why would you want a perky pair of 38s with a 50-year-old face? Go find a set of 22-year-old tits and see how long she'll stay with you, you old goat."

I told her I didn't want a younger woman. Really. I didn't. I assured her that her face was perfectly fine for now. We could always do that down the road, in a year or so.

She finally caved in. To this day, I don't know what turned her around. I mean, as I say, she was adamant. Every time I brought it up, we'd get in a fight. I wasn't trying to start a fight, but she would go ballistic on me for even mentioning it.

She really surprised me, I must say. Shocked me silly. In a good way. She'd come home, last June, the 6th, as expected, after having visited her folks for two weeks.

She walks in the door, opens her coat wide, flashes me a triumphant smile -- and a brand new set of 38-Ds."Happy birthday!"

I was floored. And thrilled. She looked terrific. And, no, her 50-year old face wasn't the major clash she'd been so afraid of. She's still got a couple of years on that yet, as I said.

I couldn't wait to feel them in the flesh! Alas, I had to be patient. She needed a few weeks to heal, unfortunately. Apparently, at her age the procedure isn't so simple. I thought they just shove in a set of silicone sacks and be done with it. But no. They can only do that with young girls who are firm and just want a bigger set. When you're already sagging they have to do all this other sculpting and such. Luckily, she found a top-notch surgeon. She assured me the scarring would be minimal thanks to his skill. I was counting down the days, believe me, to the big reveal.

The timing for "Double-D-Day" couldn't have been better. My actual birthday, June 30th, it was. She'd planned it that way. We were going to have a very romantic evening, that was for sure, she'd promised me. At long last!

When I got home from work that evening, she was out. Probably getting the fixin's for a little love feast, I'd figured.

By 8 o'clock I was starting to wonder where the hell she was. I called her cell, but she didn't pick up. At 8:30 I called her again, still no answer. No messages on my phone either.

I looked over at the envelope, the one on the table, with my name on it, which I'd assumed contained a birthday card. I'd been planning to wait for her to get back, but I figured maybe it was a note, that I'd better open it.

So I did. It was a birthday card, just as I'd thought. A very funny card, it was. I can still see that photo, of a tan-and-white Chihuahua, belly up, paws out, and the inscription inside: "You're at that age when 'roll over and play dead' is less of a trick and more of a major concern."

And under that she'd written: And I'm at that age when life is too damn short to waste on a dick like you. This bitch is outta here. And a big'Ta-Ta' from the 'girls.'