The fact that I have admitted this should alert you to how this review is going to go.
I GOT DRESSED. I couldn’t remember if I’d gotten around to using shampoo on my hair, or only gotten it wet, and I didn’t care. I had an image of Richard’s face burned in my mind. Eyes closed, that perfectly square jaw with its dimple. But there had been no spill of that glorious hair around his shoulders. That wonderful hair that was brown shot with gold and copper, so that it almost glowed in the sunlight. He’d cut his hair. He’d cut his hair.Tonight, we had every table loaded at work. Every. Single. Table. Yes. I left with over two hundred dollars in my pocket and this TECHNIALLY should have made up for the table from hell wanting more butter. I did not ask if the guy who had five rum and cokes was the driver. I was more concerned with saciating their butter habit. LKH expects me to care that, after an unspeakably long shift, Richard has cut his hair.
More power to him. We can has plot now? No?
Anita then bitches that, Because Richard is here, she has forgotten to use Shampoo AND conditioner. Boo fucking hoo. Our busboy is quitting. I couldn't really be moved to give less of a fuck about your bathing habits.
At this point, LKH needs to invest in a good councelor. Not another book. That's all I'm going to say about the latest Richard incident. Anita hates herself because she can't force Richard to love her. Okay. Whatever.
You know, a running theory about Ted Bundy is that his fiancee rejecting him is what sent him over the edge. Just saying.
Anita decides to leave until Richard is free--which, I might add, is normal SOP for rapists--and the chapter ends with them deciding which set of pretty lacy underwear Anita will need to take with her to the circus of the damned,
Never let it be said that Anita is not a class act, folks. She has lacy underwear. At all times.