Don’t Get Angry. Get Published.

“Hey Sister, now that you’re back on the market, we need to get you laid.”  Katrina called from the other room.
“Uh.  I don’t know.  I think I’m okay for right now.”
“No.  Listen.  That’s what you need, a good fuck.  A bend you in half, hair-pullin’ screw.  It’ll get your mind off Dildo.”
“Ya know.  I think I need to get my head straight before I have sex with somebody else.”
“Don’t bother getting anything straight for what I have in mind for you.”  She came into my closet where I was changing.”
“I’m so spent that I can’t even think about sex.”
“You’ll change your mind.  But, in the meantime, what are you gonna do about those?”  Pointing at my chest.
“I don’t know.  I haven’t gotten there yet.”
“Well you need to do something.  How did you get them like that?
“Like what, saggy?”
“No.  Your nipples.  They’re inverted.  How did ya get them to do that?”
“Oh, I asked them nicely.  What do you mean how did I get them to do that?  I didn’t get them to do anything.  They just are this way.”
“Well.  They look horrible.  You look horrible.  You are so skinny you have nothing left.  They look like pancakes with raisins sunk into them.”  She said grimacing. 
“Thank you.  Thank you.”
“You used to have great tits.  You were one of the few girls who could wear those triangle top bikinis.  Now you look like one of those National Geographic women.”
“I know.”  I gestured exasperatedly.  “I haven’t been able to eat.”
“You need to force yourself before people mistake you for a man.”  She looked at my legs and reached down for a pinch of thigh, “At least your cellulite has gone away.”
“There’s an upside to everything.”
“While you are at it, what are you going to do about your stomach, all that skin?”
“Like I said, I don’t know.  I haven’t gotten there yet.  It’s only been a week since I kicked Ira out.”
“You need to get that shit fixed while you are still covered on his insurance.”
“I don’t think insurance covers tummy tucks.”
“What you need to do is get yourself a sugardaddy.  He’ll get you some big ole knockers and the tummy tuck.  Like my friend La La.  She has some gorgeous jewelry and lots of furs.  She’s not shy about it at all.  One time when she was in New York wearing her fur, a woman jumped out and yelled at her, ‘Do you know how many animals had to die to get this?’  La La turned around and got right in her face, ‘Do you know how many animals I had to fuck to get this?’”

I laughed.  “Good for her!  I like her style - no apologies! I picked up my bra with my toes. “I’m just done with obligatory sex.  I want it to be like the old days when I had sex with men I liked and were attracted to.”
“If you want to have sex with someone you like, you should start liking a plastic surgeon. Surely you know some.”
“Yeah. They’re all married.”
“That sucks.”
“Oooo. Maybe I could start liking a doctor at one of the burn hospitals.  I could impress him with my potential donor status.  If all went well, I could have sex with someone I like, get my divorceoplasty for free, and be a Good Samaritan.”
“Hum.”  She brushed me off.  The plan allowed for too many variables.
“Maybe I could make an accessory out of it.”
“Gross.”
“You know.  Like Grandma’s uncle or great uncle.  What he did with his scrotum.”
“What did he do with his scrotum?”  Katrina asked out of the corner of her mouth.
“You don’t know this story?”
“I don’t think so.  What’s the story?”
“Okay.”  I sat down on the bed.  ”Grandma had an uncle or great uncle or great great uncle who had, I’m guessing, testicular cancer.  Anyway, he had to have his testicles and scrotum removed.  Rather than throwing away good skin, he kept it.”
“What the fuck did he do with it?”
“He turned it into a coin pouch.”  We both sat silently contemplating the possibilities.
“Hum.  Well, if you think about it, the ball sack is a good size for a coin pouch.  What else would he have done with that skin?  It’s not big enough for a whole wallet.”
I shook my head in agreement.  “I know.  There’s just not a whole lot of skin there and it’s not like endangered bullfrogs where you can go poaching for more of them to make boots or something.” 
“What did it look like exactly?”
“I don’t know.  But, Grandma told me she loved to rub it because it was so soft, like butter.”
“Who has it now?”
“I have no idea.  Maybe it got garage saled or Goodwilled.”
“That’s so sad.  Our uncle’s scrotum skin coin pouch is in some stranger’s pocket.”
“I know.”
“See, Liz. That’s why that’s a bad idea.  You don’t want your stomach skin clutch to be in some random woman’s closet.”

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