A WHORE IN THE BEDROOM

I have always heard that to keep a man satiated and content there is a simple formula. 

  A wife should be a whore in the bedroom and a lady in the kitchen.  This is only half right.  Men want a whore in the kitchen too.  Don't get me wrong.  You need to know how to cook, and good.  I don't mean opening a can and boiling rice.  Food with its ability to arouse all the senses, is contentment to a man.  Nothin like home cooked gravy and biscuits.

   Except, if the steaming hot biscuits and savory salty gravy is served, while wearing my hair piled high, a long strand of small white pearls falling down my breasts, a nude lace apron and cherry red toe polish against smooth suntanned legs. 

   See, the whore thing is crucial.  

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING FOR THANKSGIVING?

When my family gathers for a holiday this is the question most on mother's mind.  What we will be wearing.  Usually about three or four days before a special occasion each of her daughters, all grown and married women get a phone call.  

   As predicted the phone rings.

   "Hello?"  I say while throwing a look at the calender.  Her cheerful tone reveals this is the call.  She enjoys telling us what to do.
  "Good morning Ivey Mae I am calling about Thanksgiving dinner.  I want you to bring several bottles of diet coke.  Make sure you don't get the cheap stuff."
  Deep breath.
  "OK mother.  Is that it?  You don't want me to cook something or bring chips and dip?"
  "No I'm afraid it will have animal hair in it." 
 My pulse quickens.  "I do not let the animals around the food.  You know that."  

   "Just bring the coke.  What are you wearing for Thanksgiving?"   
   "I'm not sure yet.  Why, what do you have in mind?"
   "Could you please just not have your tits hanging out?"
   "God mother why do you have to talk like that."
   "Well, dear you are the one that insists on cleavage and after nursing those kids until they were half grown I think you should just cover them up.  I'd appreciate it."
   
   Mom explains further.

   "What puzzles me is that I have all these good looking daughters and not a one of you knows how to dress.  Lucy doesn't put on any color and slashes her  lipstick  like she is laying in a coffin.  Rosemary thinks the holidays are a pageant and Elizabeth always looks like she lives in a barn.  The only accessory she needs is a hitching post for her horse.  And you, well good lord knows the problem here.  You refuse to wear underwear and only half a brassiere.  And then of course there is Lorraine.  The fashion expert. 

   Even in the winter time she is naked.  She says she has to dress in layers.  What layers?  A layer has to cover something.  If you put a scarf over lace, over a thong.  That is not a darn layer of anything.   Do you remember what she wore last Christmas Eve?   Her necklace was bigger than her shirt.  She doesn't have any tits to hang out so with her I'd be happy if she would just put on some sleeves."

  

SOMETHING AIN'T GOING RIGHT

So far, one wants to grow up to be a Colombian garbage truck driver and one wants to live at the Playboy mansion. 

I GRADUATED ON FRIDAY

 The whole dental experience is unnerving.  From the looming date that screams at you on the calender to the fleeting relief when your appointment is past.  This peace is short lived because like labor pains, you know there are more coming.

    Last week the dental office called to verify my upcoming appointment.  I confirmed I would be there.  The receptionist becomes suspect with her response  "By the way Dr.White will not be here."  "What do you mean he won't be there?"  Then no explanation at all just  "We have a new dentist." 

  Cold and calculating does not set well with me so I am taken aback by their flippant attitude towards informing me of this consequential move on their part.  A dentist is not selling me plants at Walmart.  He is working in my mouth with a drill.  I would have appreciated a little notice to make an informed decision about putting my teeth in his hands.  None the less I still need to have my tooth fixed.  


  Morning comes bright and early driving rush hour traffic for the excitement of a new dentist.  Something was very odd about this whole situation.  Oh well curiosity keeps me from being quite so nervous about having a needle stuck into my gums, by a total stranger.  Joy.


  Arriving on time I am the only person in the usually filled waiting room.  Hmmmmmm.  My gut reaction is to run.  But I can't feed it because a smiling woman I've never seen before, instantly greets me at the office inner door.  "Good morning please come in."  "Good morning.  That was fast.  Y'all are usually so busy."  My senses heighten as she leads me past the reception area where I observe a couple more women I do not know.  These two looked like they just stepped in the same pile of dog doo doo on the way to work.  OK, now my guard is all the way up.  And my mother isn't even anywhere near me.

   Leading me past a completely desolate chamber of rooms I land in the furthest one back.  Less chance of an escape?   Impending danger slows my quick nature as I stand next to the bigger than life dental chair.  I need to sit down.  But I don't.

   Nervous chatter takes me over.  "So what is the new doctors name?"  I ask the woman who is standing too close and is way too eager to place the chain around my neck.  I'm thinkin back off honey I ain't so sure about this.  "His name is Dr. Aboc.  He is very nice."  "What happened to Dr.White and the staff?  Everyone is new!  "This is a business chain and the owner rotates his staff."  "Oh."  No wonder this place is formidable the employees have no vested interest.  Nimble decision making is not my forte but I delay no further, and plop in the chair.  "Here goes nothin" I say out loud but to no one in particular.

   Almost magically appears a very young, extremely nice looking man at the mere entrance of the doorway.  He is standing off to the side like, let me get out of the way so another one can run out.  Soon he realizes I am staying put.  He smiles with trepidation and says "Hello I am Dr. Aboc" as he extends his hand to greet me then slowly walks my way.  At close range I see he is very very young.  Without a word the assistant lowers my chair and the Dr. tightens his face mask.  My heart is pumping and my palms furiously wet.

   Searching his eyes I find them kind and a bit scared.  Then I glance at his perfectly new green scrubs.  I see deep creases on the pants as well as the shirt.  These suckers just came out of the package.  Oh boy am I nervous.  I need to know more about him.

  "So Dr.Aboc where did you go to school?"  He answers, buying me time to decide if I'm going to make a run for it or not.  I don't want to hurt his feelings.  But I will do what I have to do, regardless.  As Dr. Aboc continues I am scrutinizing his every move.   The swab of topical is between my lip and gum.  Keep breathing keep breathing.  So far so good.  I have made a deal with myself that if the injection goes without incident I will stay.  If not I am outta here faster than lickity split.
   
   More nervous chatter as we wait for the tissue to numb.  Trying to be thoughtful to this green frightened dentist I put on my rosy glasses.  Even though they are fogged up in fear.  "Well the nice thing about being young and new out of school, is that you are up to date in your field."  My new teenager type dentist responds off the cuff saying,  "True.  The problem is that you don't have any experience" as he reaches for the longest sharpest needle I have ever seen. 

    Stifling road-runner feet and a rebel yell, I ask one last thing.  "So whe-when di-did you graduate from Dental School?"  As he removes the cotton and the needle slowly sinks in, he answers.  "On Friday."  Then I close my eyes and pray, as he starts to earn the crease out of his new Dentist pants, in my mouth. 

COULD YOU LIVE ON AN ISLAND WITH ME?

"Are you asking me to marry you?"  "Yes."

I'VE GOT CORN POPPIN UP IN ROWS

with tomatoes and beans growing round a vine.  But every damn sink is clogged while he sits and watches our vegetable garden grow.