When Jack’s wife left him for a lifeguard— tall, reverently tanned and blond— Jack had understood. Hell— he, too, would have upped and left, if Swimming Trunks had just bothered to ask him.  Their two-year marriage had come to an end just in time; before the charade had caved in from natural causes. Before the painful, ruinous impact from their very own imitation of life had the opportunity to dish out a worse fate than simple infidelity and marital abandonment. The unbearable deadness inside of Jack lifted as soon as he began to read Lucy’s note. “Dear Jack,” it said, “What-the-&^*&^ were we thinking…!”