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“Because once you depart from this one-way road of life, there is just no getting back on.”

Mischief Terrry Marotta Mischief Terrry Marotta

Short Fat Slut

Where’s Waldo? Well he’s the guy in the blue shirt, see him? My old man?  Anyone who had been with us these last four days would spot him right away because he's been wearing the same shirt since Sunday morning, seeing as Alitalia lost his luggage.

When MY luggage got lost last May and our cruise ship sailed without it I was wearing the same outfit for three days, along with one or two cheesy supplemental get-ups which was all I could find in the ship’s one clothes shop. I was like Goldie Hawn in “Overboard” where she plays this rich spoiled thing who hits her head and gets amnesia and simple workin’ guy Kurt Russell who’s trying to raise his three kids all alone convinces her she’s actually HIS wife, sure she is, doesn't she remember their romantic past, how they had sex on their first date in the front seat of his car? He even goes and gets a muu-muu that once belonged to his real wife, now departed, and has her put it on.

“So I was short?! And .....fat?! I was a short, fat slut?” she asks, looking in the mirror at herself. See that’s how I felt in the cruise line’s skimpy tank tops and shorts: like a short fat slut who you could hear whining all over the Caribbean. Way farther way than that even since I blogged about it here.

But this man of mine? This man of mine hasn’t whined ONCE, even as he has kept on rinsing out his one blue polo shirt and drying it with a hairdryer... He was fully prepared to do that with his undies even until I revealed that in my deceitful wifely way I had sent away for some special meshy briefs, famous for their washablity and guaranteed to dry in less than two hours. I knew better than to give them to him before we left home, though; I knew he'd  disdain and refuse them then, these girly-seeming things made out of what, old Swiffer cloths? So I put 'em in my own suitcase and did not produce them until the morning of our first day here.

And was he grateful? Are you kidding, was he ever!  I mean how ELSE would a person feel in the land of wonderful light and the fine wines and the sobbing viloins? How ELSE would he feel toward the short fat slut who saved the day?!

 

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