Sometimes she looked at her marriage as an old house—it still stands but you can see it is slowly falling apart. Paint slowly peels off, a few crack... here and there, some roof tiles are missing and weeds grow from under the deck that you simply let grow. Why would you bother? After their eighteen-year-old son left the house to go to college, the decline seemed to have gone faster. She did notice, throughout her marriage, that Mark changed. From being an athletic type in his teens he changed to. It wasn't long before they approached to the woman's destination. The frosted window (the size of a full-length mirror) on the door read, _"The Jill Johnson Modeling Agency" _."She's a model?!" Marion said, her heart sinking."She's a model!?" George said, his heart shrinking."Woof!" Well, you're the dog of a model," George told him."Yes, Neil. How do we know you're not in a doggie model," Marion told him, as the woman opened the door."Woof!" Good morning, Miss Grant," said the young man behind. More

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