Some backstory here - Hillary had majored in one of those "worthless" degrees. She had chosen

to major in political science (and minor in accounting) for one reason, and one reason only.  She was interested in the subjects covered.  Next to having met and married Chet, her three years in college, had been exciting.  While most her classmates were off hooking up and such, her passion for the coursework had certainly done her much favor.  Namely, running off every last one of those mangy dogs.  Needless to say, party invites dried up like a post-menopausal...yeah, no loss.

Speaking of mangies, mgtows and such, she, not Chet, had paid off her student loan, through, not only getting up and going to work each day, but coming through the office door, well rested, alert, and ready to get things done.  When the couple had stood before the JP, the only debt she had was a garage bill.  It had also been with her earnings, which had helped to pay down the (now paid-in-full) mortgage. Her straight up work ethic, didn't set so well with Cadly-n-flunkies - which, was no wonder, he resorted to...basically, mean-girl games.  Oh well, no longer Hillary's problem, what goes around, comes around.

Back to the story...sorta.

The little green plastic kitchen clock read 9:13 pm.  Where did the time go?  How she had managed to get house things done, when she had "worked" for a living?  Well the answer to that, of course, had been the taking advantage of poorly paid, swollen legged, post-wallers - who's own homes were not only desolate, but likely - per plain old exhaustion/depression...well, duh! - were probably populated with dust bunnies - breeding in corners, amid clutter.

Oh, such details, Hillary had gone to libraries and had carefully researched.  Needless to say, at that time, such information was "socio-politically innapropriate."  Evidently, the authoress of "The Smith's" found that one out...in a cattle car, along with some 80-ish other people.  Her novel, not long ago, number three on the banned list, was now being praised - perhaps, overly so - being there were two or three scenes, which were, ugh, a bit provocative.  But hey, Mr. Smith was  ... hello, married to Mrs. Smith.  Needful to say, however, racey or otherwise, "they" didn't have to cart the old authoress - or anyone else, for that matter - off to die in that awful place.  Survivors had said ... Hillary didn't care to think about such realities.  

Anyway, Hillary had been fortunate.  The worst thing she had experienced was, being kicked out of college.  Needless to say, HR harpies had completely ignored her GPA of 3.7.  Her break had come from someone, a man - by the way - who wanted an employee who worked.  

"Hey, Hillary," Chet called from the livingroom. "Get a load of this."

"What?" Hillary returning to the sofa, was handed a folded back section of the local paper.  The brief article concerned some township business.  It was the brief announcement, just below that drew Hilary's attention.  A wedding had taken place at a certain fundie church, about a mile outside of town.

"Molly???  She's just a kid!"  Hillary shook her head, recalling, in early august, the little cake and ice cream party her folks had thrown for Molly and her giddy girlfriends.

"What? Who?"

 "The neighbor girl."  She shook her head again.  "Too young.  She's only seventeen, What about school?  What kind of parents..."

"Oh well.." her Husband raised his eyebrows.  As the couple made their way up the stairs, Hillary recalled, recently seeing the girl getting off the school bus.  So, it wasn't the case of a few too many pastries, from that bakery, beginning to show around the buxom girl's middle.