Phone Call from Lucia

 

Lucia finally called me at a decent time, so we could have more than a 3-minute conversation, as I’m not too talkative at 3 am when she usually calls. She sounded wonderful; very happy, and dare I say, like she’s in love. Good for her, as the last guy she was involved with was a bit of a nimrod.
She spoke glowingly of Gaspard taking her shopping, so she’d have appropriate clothes and accessories to go to the casinos in Monaco and the Riviera. “I don’t have to look at price tags, D’arcy…never. No more Payless or DSW shoes, no more Marshall’s for clothes and purses…I’m still not used to it. He’s so good to me, really.”
I told her how happy I was for her, and that she was sorely missed at Blanche’s.
“Everyone asks about you, Lu…Dusty was waxing poetic how it was like a real-life Cinderella story, or as she put it, Pretty Woman without the whole hooker thing.”
Lu laughed…then told me how she was learning to gamble, and not at the nickel slots. “I’m learning to play Baccarat…can you believe it? Every time I hear them saying banquo, banquo, I have to fight the urge to yell “YAHZEE!”
Lu…you can take the girl out of Jersey, but you’ll never take Jersey entirely out of the girl. Maybe that’s what Gaspard finds charming?

#Lucia 

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A word about children

 

I love children. I don’t want any, but I love those little pint-sized rapscallions. The energy, the enthusiasm, the boundless imagination…the stickiness, the spills, the whining. I am an honorary “aunt” to two adorable girls who are polar opposites of each other: Peyton, who’s a tomboy, and Poppy, a true princess.

I never worry about Peyton; she’s smart, sassy, and would kick someone in the nuts if they pissed her off enough. Poppy is a little lady with manners that would make the Queen proud. She loves shopping, makeup, dressing up and going to tea. She terrifies me at times.

Which leads me to the conclusion that, if I should ever procreate, I want a boy. Boys are easier than girls. They don’t care about getting dirty; they don’t get their periods and all that comes along with that; they are less likely to tell you they hate you, and they offer you the chance to raise them into fine young manly men with good manners who can still kick someone’s ass.

Girls. I was one, so enough said.

 

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Mind Your Own Business, Karen

The virus is one thing but the snitches are quite another. This has shown me how many people really don’t know how to mind their own business and how so many seem to want the government to keep them safe which is a fallacy. To slam the President of the US for not doing enough about the virus is laughable. I can keep me safe without having every move I make dictated to me.
All you Karens can kiss my ass.

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