Crybaby Update

I needed to pace the hall. There she is, front and center. She commands attention. The husband, not hers, approaches her, audible enough to reach my ears. Not or perhaps a direct quote, “You ready?” I will melt later. I creep to see them up around the bend. He sunk, the only view of his thinning hair. It takes a few minutes to realize he is sans glasses and not another lumberjack. Her descent is strategic. My eyes witness a burgeon of eyebrows. She seems pissed.