Read Online Bright Lights, Big Ass: A Self-Indulgent, Surly, Ex-Sorority Girl's Guide to Why It Often Sucks in the City, or Who Are These Idiots and Why Do They All Live Next Door to Me? by Jen Lancaster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: Humor, Fiction, General, Humorous, Humorous fiction, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Essay/s, Authors; American, Women, City and Town Life, Form, 21st Century, Chicago (Ill.), Jeanne, Lancaster; Jen, Authors; American - 21st century, Chicago (Ill.) - Social life and customs
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margarita.
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To: jen_at_home
From: fletch_at_work
Subject: RE: RE: Day Two
No, I was unaware we had twenty-eight pillows in our house. They aren’t something I would ever think to count.
And no, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think our e-mails to each other are just like the ones Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning used to send, for a variety of reasons, the first being he never worked for the phone company and to my knowledge, she never got her fist stuck in a peanut butter jar.
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To: jen_at_home
From: fletch_at_work
Subject: Day Three
The picketers are back. Today they brought lawn chairs and a picnic blanket. I believe protesters should walk, or at least stand. But I’m a traditionalist. Who would take the “Million Man Picnic” seriously? Anyone, that is, besides the Kingsford Charcoal Company?
Also, you’ll take the pink polish off the dogs’ toenails if you ever want me to walk them again.
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To: jen_at_home
From: fletch_at_work
Subject: RE: RE: Day Three
Remember what I told you about moderation? Blacking out after drinking a whole pot of coffee today is entirely preventable. Perhaps next time you’ll choose to go to the store to buy more half-and-half, rather than cutting your coffee with whipped cream.
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To: jen_at_home
From: fletch_at_work
Subject: Day Four
Did you know Westerville is in a dry county? In fact, it was the home of the Anti-Saloon League from 1893 to 1933. Please note for future reference: we are never moving to Westerville.
See you tomorrow night—and for the record, yes, I will be aggravated if you don’t disassemble your couch-cushion fort before I get there.
----
Fletch returns home today to an orderly, non-couch-cushion-forted home and we celebrate with a lovely pork-chop-and-green-bean dinner, followed by a pie à la mode chaser. I’m so glad he’s back because that means everything can return to normal. 7
After an uneventful evening of dog-walking and reality TV, I’m preparing for bed by brushing my teeth when I hear something that sounds like “Yeaarrggghhhh!”
“You say something, sweetie?” I spit, rinse, and return my toothbrush to its holder before entering the bedroom to find the source of all the yelling.
Fletch, holding his pillow in one hand, points at the bed and shouts, “What is that ?”
I look. “Oh. That’s a machete. It’s yours. Don’t you remember buying it? Did Westerville make you all forget-y?” I ask. I guess now would be an excellent time to mention the paranoia I developed when I used to live alone.
To backtrack, like any other kid, I used to keep my hands and feet far away from the monsters who lived under my bed. One night I felt a bit daring and let my hand dangle over the side. Instead of nothing, I actually touched another hand ! I didn’t realize my brother had come into my room (I had a window unit and it was a hot night) and climbed into the twin bed right next to mine. He sprawled in such a way that his hand hung off the side of his bed, and that’s what I felt when I reached out. I screamed bloody murder, causing my brother to wake up and bolt out of bed, thus knocking over the box fan, which then led my parents to believe one of us had fallen out a window. And then my dad yelled at me, which was kind of unfair. Like I was responsible for the monster?
Fast-forward to the house I lived in before I met Fletch—it was at least a hundred years old and had not been well maintained. Plus, it was directly between the bars and all the fraternity houses on Littleton Street. 8 So, drunken fraternity guys were always wandering by and messing with the place, as drunken fraternity guys were wont to do. The West Lafayette Police got a bit tired of me having them on speed-dial, so I decided I’d take matters into my own hands. To make another long story short, I’ve slept with a weapon close by for years.
But at some point, I probably should have related this explanation to Fletch. It’s
----
----
To: jen_at_home
From: fletch_at_work
Subject: RE: RE: Day Two
No, I was unaware we had twenty-eight pillows in our house. They aren’t something I would ever think to count.
And no, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think our e-mails to each other are just like the ones Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning used to send, for a variety of reasons, the first being he never worked for the phone company and to my knowledge, she never got her fist stuck in a peanut butter jar.
----
----
To: jen_at_home
From: fletch_at_work
Subject: Day Three
The picketers are back. Today they brought lawn chairs and a picnic blanket. I believe protesters should walk, or at least stand. But I’m a traditionalist. Who would take the “Million Man Picnic” seriously? Anyone, that is, besides the Kingsford Charcoal Company?
Also, you’ll take the pink polish off the dogs’ toenails if you ever want me to walk them again.
----
----
To: jen_at_home
From: fletch_at_work
Subject: RE: RE: Day Three
Remember what I told you about moderation? Blacking out after drinking a whole pot of coffee today is entirely preventable. Perhaps next time you’ll choose to go to the store to buy more half-and-half, rather than cutting your coffee with whipped cream.
----
----
To: jen_at_home
From: fletch_at_work
Subject: Day Four
Did you know Westerville is in a dry county? In fact, it was the home of the Anti-Saloon League from 1893 to 1933. Please note for future reference: we are never moving to Westerville.
See you tomorrow night—and for the record, yes, I will be aggravated if you don’t disassemble your couch-cushion fort before I get there.
----
Fletch returns home today to an orderly, non-couch-cushion-forted home and we celebrate with a lovely pork-chop-and-green-bean dinner, followed by a pie à la mode chaser. I’m so glad he’s back because that means everything can return to normal. 7
After an uneventful evening of dog-walking and reality TV, I’m preparing for bed by brushing my teeth when I hear something that sounds like “Yeaarrggghhhh!”
“You say something, sweetie?” I spit, rinse, and return my toothbrush to its holder before entering the bedroom to find the source of all the yelling.
Fletch, holding his pillow in one hand, points at the bed and shouts, “What is that ?”
I look. “Oh. That’s a machete. It’s yours. Don’t you remember buying it? Did Westerville make you all forget-y?” I ask. I guess now would be an excellent time to mention the paranoia I developed when I used to live alone.
To backtrack, like any other kid, I used to keep my hands and feet far away from the monsters who lived under my bed. One night I felt a bit daring and let my hand dangle over the side. Instead of nothing, I actually touched another hand ! I didn’t realize my brother had come into my room (I had a window unit and it was a hot night) and climbed into the twin bed right next to mine. He sprawled in such a way that his hand hung off the side of his bed, and that’s what I felt when I reached out. I screamed bloody murder, causing my brother to wake up and bolt out of bed, thus knocking over the box fan, which then led my parents to believe one of us had fallen out a window. And then my dad yelled at me, which was kind of unfair. Like I was responsible for the monster?
Fast-forward to the house I lived in before I met Fletch—it was at least a hundred years old and had not been well maintained. Plus, it was directly between the bars and all the fraternity houses on Littleton Street. 8 So, drunken fraternity guys were always wandering by and messing with the place, as drunken fraternity guys were wont to do. The West Lafayette Police got a bit tired of me having them on speed-dial, so I decided I’d take matters into my own hands. To make another long story short, I’ve slept with a weapon close by for years.
But at some point, I probably should have related this explanation to Fletch. It’s
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