the talk had gone on and on , each `` remembrance bouquet '' ( she thought that she could cheerfully machine-gun the politically correct buttholes who spent their days thinking such smarmy phrases up ) seemingly longer than the last , and by four o'clock , when they 'd finally gotten up to eat the food and drink the wine-domestic and dreadful , just what peter would have picked if he 'd been the one doing the shopping-she was sure the shape of the folding chair on which she 'd been sitting must have been tattooed into her ass .