The Statue

I lived in a nice neighborhood. My drinking warped my perception of what is appropriate. I had a life-sized statue of a nude that I kept in the full-length picture window in the front living room of my house. My wife had left me and took the kids so I was living alone. I would try dancing with the statue, whom I called Wanda, until two hundred pounds of plaster rolled over my toe. I was not a good dancer.