American Housewife
“Myrtle Babcock can get her flabby pancake tits out of his face. He’s sizing her up in her ill-fitting turtleneck that’s off-white and thin because it’s been through the wash too many times. Her “nude” athletic bra shows through like she’s smuggling ferrets. Here’s what, sister: every woman needs underwire, and when you stuff two pounds of downed rounds into A-cups, beige ain’t invisible.
The Fitter doesn’t touch her. He shakes his head no when she offers to lift her top.
I say, “This ai...n’t Mardi Gras, Myrtle.”
The Fitter waves his hand for me to be quiet. He leans forward in his recliner.
My husband, the Fitter, looks like every other middle-aged man in this small Georgia town. Somehow skinny and fat. Always in khakis with a nice enough smile. He talks like everybody else. He says, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, sir.” He mows his own lawn. He passes the collection plate at church.MoreLess
The Fitter doesn’t touch her. He shakes his head no when she offers to lift her top.
I say, “This ai...n’t Mardi Gras, Myrtle.”
The Fitter waves his hand for me to be quiet. He leans forward in his recliner.
My husband, the Fitter, looks like every other middle-aged man in this small Georgia town. Somehow skinny and fat. Always in khakis with a nice enough smile. He talks like everybody else. He says, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, sir.” He mows his own lawn. He passes the collection plate at church.MoreLess
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