A moment later, the full effect of the words slammed into me."Oh, hi, Linda, nice to hear from you. Doing fine, thanks, and you?"Silence; then, "They ...ound bones." So Doctor McCoy is for sure dead?" I asked."Don't play cute," said the voice."I'm not in the mood for this," I snapped, suddenly tired of the game. "Will you talk to me, or is the conversation over?"Another silence. "They found his fucking bones." The voice was fiery, angry, full of self-congratulatory self-righteousness."Good-bye,. Truthfully a lot of the following you are about to experience through reading this frankly BORES ME.I'm simply doing this for him.Let me begin.I remember when I first encountered my future slave/husband.It's pretty easy to remember because it was around 3 weeks before the 911 attack on America.In mid August of 2001 I was a nurse/ther****t for 3 1/2 years in Aruba.I'd forever get flirty invites from all the boneheads I worked with.A crash victim arrived from America at this time.(Don't even ask. More

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