I ask myself, why am I not also a writer of erotica of the sort people pay for, and read aloud to their partner between the sheets and sleep?
I understood that there were rules a proper woman must follow to be socially accepted, and then I saw that being ladylike was just a game we played.
Burning Ed’s name into my abdomen was the equivalent of getting a tattoo, just short of being engaged, a symbol of eternal love.
Her eyes sparkled, her hair shimmered silver, and her jewelry shook and danced when she moved.
She got married, had kids, kept a nice house, and made sure there was always plenty of lunch meat in the fridge for her husband.
There was no dress rehearsal for being single. Suddenly my co-pilot was gone and I was flying solo.
If I stood too close to her, she blew smoke in my face. But after a year as her assistant, I took it as a sign of affection.