The ladies are sitting next to the pool. They wear housedresses & sit upon cheap lawn chairs. They are not old ladies – not yet – but they’re old enough to be sitting next to the pool in housedresses instead of swim suits.
So they’re getting there.
& Helen uses her pinky finger to move the tiny umbrella in her glass so she can drink, & she slurs on about her Junior, who has moved back into her mobile home. AGAIN.
//Ha!\\ bursts Margaret. //That’s nothing!\\
All eyes on Margaret.
//My Trey is 32, & he’s moved back in the house w/ Henry & me & brought his girlfriend this time, too!\\
There is all-around agreement that this is worse than Helen’s pickle. Agreement that poor Margaret has it bad indeed.
There is silence as they think about Margaret & Henry’s predicament.
Finally, my Aunt Maxine clears her throat. Swallows another Nembutal. Picks at a particularly scary mole on her arm.
//3 weeks ago Thursday\\ Maxine begins, //Jason comes over w/ his wife, Ann, their 3 little kids, their Rottweiler, boxer, & their parrot, Captain Beakers.\\
//He tells me they’ve talked it over & they have decided they’re moving into my uterus, because it’s warm & it’s comfortable in there & from what he remembers, there’s a lot of easy floating around doing nothing all day involved.\\
//& while I’m stuttering, trying to find words to say, it’s FOOMP! & up into my uterus they go.\\
Maxine looks around. //It’s a momma’s worst nightmare.\\
Everyone by the pool agrees that Maxine’s story just about takes the cake.
But Maxine says, //But that’s not all!\\
//Because after that, I get nervous about my OTHER kids, so I decide to stop the vicious cycle. I swallow my youngest right down. Eat him up. Well, HE takes up residence in my stomach & demands cable TV, complete with premium channels!\\
//Jason & my youngest talk through my meaty walls to each other, & they’re complaining about me, mostly.\\
//That night, I dream of the perfect son, & I dream of what he’d be like. Come next morning, I find that Dream Child still in my head, & he’s taking online classes & demanding piano lessons!\\
& all the ladies just sit there in their house dresses, sipping their drinks, staring @ the sun reflected on the water, while their husbands stay out too late boning overpaid nubile secretaries.
& all the housedress ladies sit there, growing old & dreaming of death.
So they’re getting there.
& Helen uses her pinky finger to move the tiny umbrella in her glass so she can drink, & she slurs on about her Junior, who has moved back into her mobile home. AGAIN.
//Ha!\\ bursts Margaret. //That’s nothing!\\
All eyes on Margaret.
//My Trey is 32, & he’s moved back in the house w/ Henry & me & brought his girlfriend this time, too!\\
There is all-around agreement that this is worse than Helen’s pickle. Agreement that poor Margaret has it bad indeed.
There is silence as they think about Margaret & Henry’s predicament.
Finally, my Aunt Maxine clears her throat. Swallows another Nembutal. Picks at a particularly scary mole on her arm.
//3 weeks ago Thursday\\ Maxine begins, //Jason comes over w/ his wife, Ann, their 3 little kids, their Rottweiler, boxer, & their parrot, Captain Beakers.\\
//He tells me they’ve talked it over & they have decided they’re moving into my uterus, because it’s warm & it’s comfortable in there & from what he remembers, there’s a lot of easy floating around doing nothing all day involved.\\
//& while I’m stuttering, trying to find words to say, it’s FOOMP! & up into my uterus they go.\\
Maxine looks around. //It’s a momma’s worst nightmare.\\
Everyone by the pool agrees that Maxine’s story just about takes the cake.
But Maxine says, //But that’s not all!\\
//Because after that, I get nervous about my OTHER kids, so I decide to stop the vicious cycle. I swallow my youngest right down. Eat him up. Well, HE takes up residence in my stomach & demands cable TV, complete with premium channels!\\
//Jason & my youngest talk through my meaty walls to each other, & they’re complaining about me, mostly.\\
//That night, I dream of the perfect son, & I dream of what he’d be like. Come next morning, I find that Dream Child still in my head, & he’s taking online classes & demanding piano lessons!\\
& all the ladies just sit there in their house dresses, sipping their drinks, staring @ the sun reflected on the water, while their husbands stay out too late boning overpaid nubile secretaries.
& all the housedress ladies sit there, growing old & dreaming of death.
