Linda’s dream was to dance in a Broadway show, maybe even the
movies. Her dance teacher was enthusiastic about her talent, and Chuck was sure
his Linda would one day be a star. He was ready to make the sacrifice of
holding down the fort while she went off on tour. Chuck wasn’t the travelling
type, anyway, and neither of them was anxious to start a family. They talked
about it at Christmas sometimes.
By the time they were thirty, Chuck and Linda had stopped
talking about executive suites and tour buses. Chuck was senior forklift operator,
not a managerial position. Linda was teaching yoga out at the community college,
where she got a faculty discount on dance classes. They still talked about
starting a family, usually while Christmas shopping.
On Linda’s thirty-third birthday, Chuck stood at the teller’s
window counting his pay. ‘Tell ya what,’ he said to the teller. ‘Do me a favor
and give me a hundred ones.’
The teller shrugged, as tellers do, and then complied, as she
would do every Friday for the next fifteen years.
When Chuck got home, he gave Linda her present, an authentic
Las Vegas poledancing outfit. ‘Dance for me babe,’ he said. He loaded his wife’s
music on the player, poured a drink, pulled up chair and waited. Linda came out
of the bedroom dancing and didn’t stop until the rain of singles ended, three
songs later.
Chuck drained his glass, knocked back the chair, and gave his
wife a standing ovation.
This week,

rain (transitive verb) 3: to take a lot of money in bill form and toss it up in the air. This is most effectively done at a strip club for the effect of raining one dollar bills on the dancers (and it makes them feel so pretty), or to snub a hater by throwing money into their face that then falls to the floor like rain (use this when paying a debt to a punk bitch who keeps asking for their money to the point that they are ruining your friendship or when dumping someone who has been bankrolling you for a while now that you're making money).