Tuesday 18 February 2020


The doorbell rang, giving me a welcome break in the conversation. At the same time, my stomach sank, because it meant the others were here.
Lillian, Evelyn, and Kathleen.
Which meant the night was just getting started.
AKA, time to pray for all our souls.
I did just that, shooting a quick prayer to whichever God from whichever religion may be listening right now. All three women came into the living room clutching books that declared they were Wuthering Heights.
The dust jackets weren’t fooling anyone. I knew the actual title of the book was Heather’s Discovery: A Sexual Journey, a memoir about a woman exploring her sexuality in the world of BDSM.
I was equal parts excited and terrified. Excited because they were branching out to non-fiction, but terrified they were getting lessons from this poor woman whose name was not actually Heather.
“How do you get the dust jackets to stay on the paperbacks?” I asked, picking Evelyn’s book up from the table right after she'd set it down. “And you do know that everyone knows you’re all smut peddlers, don’t you?”
“Open the cover. Sticky tack,” Lil answered, unscrewing the Jack Daniels. “And we know, but it’s fun to take the books to church and wait for all the prissies to open a book discussion.”
Kathleen nodded sagely. “This morning, Wilhelmina Porter-Scott asked us what we thought of the book, and Jen told them she was enjoying the voyeur scene.”
Grandma cackled. “Poor little Willy went bright red and did the cross over her shoulders. She’s not even Catholic, the silly old prune!”
I side-eyed her. “Are you aware that you’re an eighty-year-old bully?”
“Yes, dear, but you’re confusing me with someone who gives a shit.”


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