Hello, my name is Doris and I'd like to make a complaint.

The first time I noticed Pete's breathing problem I was sitting in the passenger seat of his V8 automatic Hilux ute.  Four normal quiet breaths followed by one long deep breath. In then out, whistling through that deviated septum. The cycle repeated itself over and over again as he leaned forward driving, as he did, his right arm wrapped over the top of the steering wheel. Fucking ignore it I told myself.  I'd had a lot of lectures during my 6 years of dating: "You're too picky Doris!" "Not all men..." "Why do you even bother?"  Maybe I could put up with it?  Pete hadn't done well for himself since his split from his wife some 10 years earlier. His need to purchase a roaring ute for the short drive to work each day had beaten the need to own a home. As a result, at 50yrs of age, he was renting a small, rather depressing 2 bedroom unit. He'd entered a relationship shortly after splitting with his wife and when that had ended two years

I was chatting to a friend the other day about her sister and her sister's new boyfriend. Cassy, (my friend's sister) is in her early 50s, very conservative and twice divorced. Cassy's been uncertain about her future for months as she's navigated life as a single woman in the aftermath of her second marriage. I met Cassy once but didn't really like her. I thought her values were all fucked up, and I thought it a little weird that her soft-top red sports car was the antithesis of her boring personality. I got the feeling I annoyed her too. I found it cringe-worthy that Cassy had managed to stay good friends with both of her much older ex-spouses, making pacts with each that that they would look after each other as they got old. Each ex-husband still came over to visit unannounced whenever they pleased. "We're just great friends." "We're not all bitter like you Doris" # she explained when I questioned her about her right to privacy and her