“…everyone is calling him a reckless driver who is— let’s face it— definitely past his prime… how do you feel about that, Mrs….?” The reporter has this shit-eating grin on his face, like he’s just asked you a million-dollar question. As if this is the first time you’ve been interrogated about your husband.

“How do I feel about what? The reckless part or the ‘past his prime’ part?” You fire back snappishly. “Because I agree he’s reckless. Hasn’t got his head on straight, worries me to death. That what you want to hear?” The reporter takes notes gleefully as others start to notice and jog across the track to swarm you too. A bunch of damn vultures is what they were.

“Well, that tends to happen with the process of aging… these things, you know…” Your temple throbs. Would Sonny’s team be on your ass if you were to deck this dick in the face? Probably. But by god, if he didn’t stop talking, he was about to eat gravel.

Just as you were about to turn around and smack the daylights out of him, Sonny himself comes into the building with his gear, looking slightly bemused at your harassed-looking face.

“Hey, honey.” He peers at the swarm of clamouring reporters trailing after you, who have now spotted him and were already running over. “I see you brought a little entourage to greet me, that’s cute...”

“Mr. Hayes—-“ “—reckless, she says, we really quite agree with her—-“ “Don’t you worry for your safety—?” “I mean really, it seems like your habit for gambling is—“

“Worry?” He laughs, brushing off one of the breathless interviewers. “Only thing I’m worried about is you hounding my girl like that, but anyway… I ain’t worried.”

This sends a ripple through the swarm. “Love your confidence, but, see—“ The reporter tries again; Sonny brushes him off. “I’ve got a lucky charm. Never failed me before.” “You mean your cards?” “Sure. Those too. But, y’know. My favourite one’s right over there.”

And he points to you.

You have to remind yourself why you married this corny man.