Keep Your Hands to Yourself

Lola was not feeling sexy, she was feeling like cement in a cement mixer. Gray and rigidly indifferent to the world. She was certain Richard would call.

At home, Richard was only half-aware that as he picked up the phone, he was mentally humming an old song by the Georgia Satellites,

“I got a little change in my pocket going jingle lingle ling want to call you on the telephone baby I give you a ring, but each time we talk I get the same old thing, always no huggin no kissin until I get a wedding ring. My honey my baby don't put my love upon no shelf. She said don't give me no lines and keep your hands to yourself .”

Lola didn’t answer the ringing phone.