Too many years ago, and yet tomorrow.
She would spend most the day at home, screaming at her illigitimate preeschool son and collecting her welfare dime. Her live-in boyfriend would get home from work about 5 and be able to stand about 45 minutes of her bitching about everything in general and what a poor, oppressed victim of society she was in particular. Said bitching would turn to whining and begging as he got up and headed "out", as was the standard reply to her queries where he was going. He couldn't take her anywhere for reasons that were to become obvious: She would follow him all the way out to his car where her side of the conversation - which was most of it, for he knew to say much would only make it worse - would turn frantically again to bitching and insults as his escape became more imminent. He would fire up the Dodge Charger and gun off into the night, returning much later.
There were variations of course. One Friday as he sped away she stood stomping and screaming, making a fool of herself with the universal adjective for nearly 15 minutes. Normally, she would just go across the street to her daddy's house and pester her parents with prattlings and progeny. Eventually, being a "good" Roman Catholic like most Johnny-Rebs, he did marry her, but my family moved out of the slums before I learned the end of the tale. I wish I could say that was the first and last of such escapades, but the same melodrama played out more often with slightly different races, venues and details along the road of my travels these three decades since, and more recently with more kids and less marriages. A certain enterprising shyster from Ohio made himself rich and famous with the National Enquireresque/"Harlot-queen" Romances of such, as though there was something actually entertaining about "Your tax doLlars at sloth". It DID show Galt-in-Da-Box the other side of the consequences of not keeping your pants on!
"One way to go right and a thousand ways to go wrong."