In my first passionate sexual awakening, I made sweet sweet love to my housekeeper, Isabelle.

So here we got some of the friends from home:


He's wearing a wedding band.

So? Maybe that's his wife.

No married man kisses his wife like that. You get married and the passion dies, man. Don't you ever watch talk shows?

What are you talking about?

A guy makes his best plays when wooing. When the object of his desire is won, there's no need to expend the effort anymore. He relaxes, satisfied with the spoils of victory, which he then decides isn't so victorious because he's saddled with a life-mate.

Very romantic sentiment.

That's the problem - romance. You think about it: back in the old days, nobody got married out of quote, unquote, love. People married for property, dowries, or to procreate - to immortalize oneself through offspring. When did all this love stuff start? What the hell happened to the status quo?

The Troubadors.

Lionel Richie's old group?

No, that's the Commodores. The Troubadors were wandering minstrels and dramatists that sang melodramatic and sappy songs of undying love.

Sounds like the Commodores.