It was a dark and stormy night and as dense as a London fog. As luck would have it Bob was late getting home, where he was looking forward to being as snug as a bug in a rug, because he was off course as the crow flies because he had to take the long road home as luck would have it. He thought of his wife Rose - a rose by any other name would smell so sweet - and regretted leaving his cell phone charging on his desk at work. He decided that was a bad call but that thinking about it was like beating a dead horse. He hoped his wife would like her anniversary present but he knew beauty was in the eye of the beholder. He hoped she didn't think beggars can't be choosers because he'd been there done that with his first wife Mabel. Mabel had been behind the the times, far from the belle of the ball and a knife or two short of the cutlery drawer. Anyway, as he sat in the detoured traffic he knew he'd be better late than never and in terms of Rose, his second wife, it