Read Online When Good Bras Go Bad (Myrtle Crumb Series) by Gayle Trent - Free Book Online Page A

the lunchroom . All the ladies asked about Sunny…in a nice way . They didn’t come across as snotty . I told them she was doin’ fine but that she still wouldn’t say who took Mrs. Anderson’s bracelet . Jane Kershaw said young ‘uns were like that—they’d rather be punished themselves than tell on a friend . Another woman—a short little woman with a slight stoop whose name, I believe, is Polly—said Sunny might honest to goodness not know who’s lettin’ her be their patsy.
                  I talked to Wilbur Brody as soon as he came in . He said there weren’t any thefts, as far as he knew, during the three days Sunny was suspended . I hate I heard that . I knew Sunny wasn’t stealin’ things, so that had to mean somebody really was settin’ Sunny up to be their patsy.
                  Later when she came through the lunch line, I decided to take my cues from her . I didn’t speak . She didn’t acknowledge who I was, but she did speak.
                  “Hi, Ms. Crumb.”
                  “Hello, Crimson.”  I kept on puttin’ food on plates, barely even lookin’ up.
                  About fifteen minutes into her lunch, she came lookin’ for me.
                  “Everything all right, Mimi?”
                  “Yeah, I reckon . You?”
                  “All right, I guess.”  She stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans . “I asked Al if her mama was excited about seein’ her in the play . She said she’s real excited and wants a front-row seat opening night.”
                  “I’ll do my best to get her here then . The young ‘un wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t want her mama to be at that play.”
                  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”
                  “Well, you’d better get back to your lunch before somebody misses you.”
                  Sunny nodded . She turned to leave but then turned back . “Are you mad at me?”
                  “No . I’m just tryin’ to act like a lunch lady instead of a grandmother.”
                  “Oh.”  She walked on back to her table, and I dared myself to cry.
    DIVIDER HERE
     
                  On the way home, I got to thinkin’ about how long it took me to get comfortable last night before I could go to sleep . You see, I like to sleep on my stomach . But—like every woman who likes to sleep on her belly, I imagine—I have a hard time gettin’ comfortable on account of my boobs . Either they’re mushed up under my chin to where I can hardly breathe or else I have to try to tuck ‘em under my arms.
                  I’ve decided somebody needs to make a bed with a boob trench . It could have two removable cushions, one on either side of the bed . That way, your husband—if you’ve got one—wouldn’t have to worry about havin’ his boobs in the trench . Although, Harold Miller, Tansie’s husband—God rest his soul—could’ve certainly put a boob trench to good use . He used to come out and mow the yard in just his cut-off jeans and sandals, and I’d say he was a double D cup at the very least .
                  Any how , you could remove the cushions off whichever side you sleep on, lay down on your belly, and allow your boobs to gently rest in the trench . Now, mind you, the trench would be cushiony mattress stuff . It wouldn’t be a hole . God forbid you’d have your tender bosom just hangin’ there between the bed and the floor…especially if you’ve got a cat .
                  If you’d take a notion to sleep on your side or somethin’, you could just slip your pillow back in the trench . And, of course, you’d do that in the mornin’ when you got up so the bed would look nice and not have a big dip in it after you made it up.