dinners with close friends. I stare out at the water and recall the last meal I got to experience with them.
“Hey hooker, what do you want Brad and I to bring tonight?”
This is from Laura; her mouth is almost as filthy as mine. She’s been my rock for the past thirteen years, ever since we met in high school.
“You’ve been into the tequila already haven’t you?”
She’s snickering and I can only guess it’s because Brad can’t keep his hands off her. She met him last year. Single mom with two six-year-old twins and Brad took them all on, while treating them like the true treasures they are. I couldn’t be happier my best friend has such a great man in her life to support her and her children.
“Why yes, my beautiful bitch, I have. The kids have been with their Grandma since noon so I figured I’d get an early start!”
This is no surprise to me only because I’d probably do the exact same thing, minus the Brad in my life. That man is a keeper, but I have not quite found where the rest of the ‘Brads’ of the world are hiding. That's the downside to small town living. Either someone has already found them, or they’ve slept with someone you know.
“Of course you did you sloppy slut. However if you hadn’t started your protest to prohibition so early you’d recall telling me you were bringing the buns.”
Fuck, she’s forgetful. She’s lucky I love her.
“I already had me some buns today sister, and they were nice and firm!”
She’s still laughing. I hear Brad holler in the background regarding what he’ll be sticking between her buns later tonight, and since I need to finish prepping for dinner I speed this along.
“Alright, you’re in charge of nothing but yourself. Not because I don't think you can manage something so simple, but more because I’m concerned of whether or not you’ve washed your hands after all that ‘bun’ business you had going on today.”
She’s still cackling so I tell her I’ll see her soon and finish with getting things ready.
This is normal, weekly dinners with friends. Sometimes it happens on a Tuesday, sometimes we manage it on the weekend. But no matter what, we always make time for each other—and wine.
I pull myself out of memory lane and clean up my dinner mess. The sun’s beginning to set and I decide it’s a good time to soak in the tub. I grab the half-drunk bottle of wine from the counter and plug my iPod into the stereo. I bring up my playlist which is a mix of the blues and bands like CCR.
My bath time tunes.
I pin my brown locks on top of my head; I don’t flat iron my hair when it’s just me at home. When I go out I stick to the pin straight look that’s so far off from my appearance before that nobody should ever recognize me. My usual is what I like to call an untamed riot act of hair. It sticks in every which direction and I always make sure to keep a hair tie in my pocket.
I settle myself down into the coconut scented water. I always add coconut oil to my skin in hopes it’ll tone down the appearance of my scars. A little in the tub adds a great fragrance to the room as well.
My favorite scent used to be anything with the scent of lily in it. Then the smell became too much, and the word lily became unbearable to hear.
Enter coconut. The good Doc recommended it for the marks on my skin. The scent has stuck without triggering the memories from my past that lily does.
Creedence begins singing about the rain when I hear a knock at my back door. Since I spend the majority of my time on the waterside of the house, my front door is always shut and the lights at that end of the house are usually off. I hear Norm scratching at the door to get out as I wrap my robe around myself and head for the door. As per usual my gun is not far so I grab it off the bathroom counter and put in the pocket of my robe.
I holler from the hallway before I round the
“Hey hooker, what do you want Brad and I to bring tonight?”
This is from Laura; her mouth is almost as filthy as mine. She’s been my rock for the past thirteen years, ever since we met in high school.
“You’ve been into the tequila already haven’t you?”
She’s snickering and I can only guess it’s because Brad can’t keep his hands off her. She met him last year. Single mom with two six-year-old twins and Brad took them all on, while treating them like the true treasures they are. I couldn’t be happier my best friend has such a great man in her life to support her and her children.
“Why yes, my beautiful bitch, I have. The kids have been with their Grandma since noon so I figured I’d get an early start!”
This is no surprise to me only because I’d probably do the exact same thing, minus the Brad in my life. That man is a keeper, but I have not quite found where the rest of the ‘Brads’ of the world are hiding. That's the downside to small town living. Either someone has already found them, or they’ve slept with someone you know.
“Of course you did you sloppy slut. However if you hadn’t started your protest to prohibition so early you’d recall telling me you were bringing the buns.”
Fuck, she’s forgetful. She’s lucky I love her.
“I already had me some buns today sister, and they were nice and firm!”
She’s still laughing. I hear Brad holler in the background regarding what he’ll be sticking between her buns later tonight, and since I need to finish prepping for dinner I speed this along.
“Alright, you’re in charge of nothing but yourself. Not because I don't think you can manage something so simple, but more because I’m concerned of whether or not you’ve washed your hands after all that ‘bun’ business you had going on today.”
She’s still cackling so I tell her I’ll see her soon and finish with getting things ready.
This is normal, weekly dinners with friends. Sometimes it happens on a Tuesday, sometimes we manage it on the weekend. But no matter what, we always make time for each other—and wine.
I pull myself out of memory lane and clean up my dinner mess. The sun’s beginning to set and I decide it’s a good time to soak in the tub. I grab the half-drunk bottle of wine from the counter and plug my iPod into the stereo. I bring up my playlist which is a mix of the blues and bands like CCR.
My bath time tunes.
I pin my brown locks on top of my head; I don’t flat iron my hair when it’s just me at home. When I go out I stick to the pin straight look that’s so far off from my appearance before that nobody should ever recognize me. My usual is what I like to call an untamed riot act of hair. It sticks in every which direction and I always make sure to keep a hair tie in my pocket.
I settle myself down into the coconut scented water. I always add coconut oil to my skin in hopes it’ll tone down the appearance of my scars. A little in the tub adds a great fragrance to the room as well.
My favorite scent used to be anything with the scent of lily in it. Then the smell became too much, and the word lily became unbearable to hear.
Enter coconut. The good Doc recommended it for the marks on my skin. The scent has stuck without triggering the memories from my past that lily does.
Creedence begins singing about the rain when I hear a knock at my back door. Since I spend the majority of my time on the waterside of the house, my front door is always shut and the lights at that end of the house are usually off. I hear Norm scratching at the door to get out as I wrap my robe around myself and head for the door. As per usual my gun is not far so I grab it off the bathroom counter and put in the pocket of my robe.
I holler from the hallway before I round the
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