Gravitational Offerings

"Would you like a breast lift?" Asks Rob.

"No way," I mutter, "I've seen before and after pictures on the web and it's not pretty." I glance at my chest. When the girls were perky, I stuffed them in coveralls, or hid them behind bib overalls. Now that I'm no longer shy, they've gone south.

"Okay."

Okay? What does he mean okay? I give him a narrow look, but he's too busy wrestling with the dog to notice. "So," I ask, certain he doesn't care, but determined to prove it, "do you want me to have a boob job?"

He chuckles. "Of course not. I just wanted you to know that if it's important to you, we'll find the money somewhere."

Huh. I'm not annoyed, but I'm getting close. "Where exactly did you get the idea that I might want a breast lift?"

He shrugs "I was in operations the other day and that's what the flight attendants were talking about."

Yep, that explains a lot. I start to laugh. "I was there last week as they discussed where the silicon goes when their implants rupture." He gives me a pained look and I nod. "Yep, some of them have funny lumps on their elbows."

He grimaces, gets to his feet and squeezes me tight. His chest rumbles and his shoulders shake. "Is that a nipple in my belly button?"

"No dammit," I smack his arm and tally up the price of a new bra, "that's my belt buckle."

Pluggin The Ugly

Last night, I felt a funny bump in the pillow case. My thumb worked over the weird nubbin next to my

ear. I was groggy. What the Hell?

I fished the object out, flipped on the light and stared at my palm. A pacifier?

Yep, some poor baby is missing his plug ugly.

Some enterprising hotel maid took a short cut.

Too damned tired to care, I pitched the rubber nipple on the bedside table and went to sleep.

The next morning, I'm working first class and the gals in the back keep calling. I don't like noise. I can't stand chimes. I'm like pavlov's dog, only instead of drooling when the bells are rung, my blood pressure shoots up and I morph from Fanny Friendly to Lunatic Lucy.

"What?" I bark into the handset.

"We have a situation."

Shit. We're moments from take off, I have glassware strewn about the galley and they have a situation. I doubt it. "Fine." I hang up the phone and stalk to the back. My gaze rakes over the flight attendants standing with folded arms and lands on a frustrated passenger in the last row. "So what's up?"

He glares at me and jerks his thumb at one of the girls. "You have to get rid of her, she's, she's ..."

"yes?"

"She's tantalizing me."

I bite the inside of my lip. "Tantalizing?" I ask.

"Yes," he nods, "tantalizing."

Oh crap. I give him a look. "Do you know the definition of tantalizing because it's miles away from tormenting?" From the corner of my eye I see the flight attendants jab each other. I ignore them. The bins are closed, the trays are up. Frustrated is buckled in. "We're done here."

Heading up the aisle, I wish I'd kept the pacifier.

Rant on a Hot Tin Roof

(Oops I failed. If I'd opened the story with my full blown, steam whistling, ear splittin hissy fit, you would have cheered when Rob calmly climbed down from the roof and took the ladder with him. Dad clapped. Mom approved. Sheez, you'd think I have a reputation.)

"Dammit Rob," belly down, I scootch to the edge of the roof, "get me down."

Silence.

Heat pricks my spine and a lock of hair sticks to my cheek. I can't believe he took the ladder. Who does that? "ROB. DAMMIT."

He's in the house drinking a beer. I can tell. He thinks he's funny, only the next time the sewer pipe needs to be snaked, he can damned well do it himself. I quit. At least I'd quit if I could get off the roof.

"Listen you son oF A ... "

The dogs race into the backyard and spin in circles til I groan. They look up, settle on their haunches and cock their heads. "Get Daddy." I tell them. They look at each other and glance back at me. I swear they're amused. "Go," I jerk an arm toward the sliding door beneath me, "Get. Daddy."

They bound into the house as I strip off dirt streaked gloves and judge the distance to the pool.

"Too chicken to jump?"

I jerk upright. Rob stands on the patio and tilts a iced bottle of beer to his lips. He's smug. Too smug for a man with a diminishing life span. "Get. Me. Down."

"No, I think you need to get rid of that attitude before I bring back the ladder." Whistling, he disappears into the house.

It's summer. It's Florida. I'm not losing the attitude til the first cold snap in November. When anger overrides fear I sit down, roll over and shimmy back to the edge. My legs dangle in midair, but I shove down the panic and kick back til I collide with the fence top.

Ten seconds later I barrel into the house, but it's quiet. Too quiet. And then I peer through the plate glass window. Rob's across the street chatting with George. The dogs are with him. He spots me and hoists his beer bottle in salute.

Why that son oF A ...

Snot Me

"You've always been a snot bucket." Says Mom

I blink.

"You could," Dad clears his throat, "get through life with a little patience.

Huh? I haven't been targeted by the parental team attack for, oh I don't know, a decade. I widen eyes at Dad. "Well, I've made it this far."

The stink eye flares to life and Mom snaps. "Kelly Louise."

Dad, more of a pacifist, chuckles. "I liked to pinch your toes when you were a newborn."

I narrow my eyes.

"Yep, I'd hold you up with one hand and stare into those marvelous beady little eyes. You weren't a cryer, but boy could you glare. I'd pinch the tips of your toes and your eyes would flash."

"You weren't a happy baby." Adds Mom.

"Thanks guys." I mumble under my breath, but memories flash across their features and I don't think they hear me.

"You didn't smile until the day you sat up." Dad wags a finger at me. "After that we didn't see a happy face til you learned to walk. Did we Honey?"

"Not likely," Says Mom. "Then you destroyed three playpens and your sister's crib."

"Yep," Dad drags his fists outward from his solar plexis and grunts, "you pulled the bars apart on one, demolished the netting on another, and dismantled the third."

"Then you became a nightmare." Says Mom. "Want tea?"

"I'll stick with coffee, thanks, but keep this up and I'll need a cookie."

"You always did." She says. "Cookie Daddy. Cookie Daddy. Cookie Daddy. That's all we heard at bedtime."

Dad laughs, his head nods, his eyes twinkle. Mom's a smart woman, she's devious, I think she made sure I'd be calling for Dad in the middle of the night. I'm sure Dad knew it too.

"You want me to wear what?"

"Um," I eyed the cocktail costume and shook my head. "Not my size." I knew the women in wardrobe and I'd baked them cookies in exchange for the longest skirt possible.

"Oh stop," Angela laughed, snatched the plate of goodies and pointed toward the dressing room, "you'll look like a goddess and you're lucky, the Vegas girls have to wear Cleopatra ponytails."

"I'll look like a moron." I muttered, snicking the door shut behind me. I took a closer look at the outfit, opened the door and stuck my head out. "Where's the rest?"

"That's it." Angela shrugged and plucked a second cookie from the plate.

With a baleful glance at the door, I shucked off my shirt and jeans, and tossed them on the chair. Rob was right, I'd make more money on the casino floor than I would pushing papers in the food and beverage office. Determined, I grabbed the gold trimmed toga, slid down the zipper and eyed the industrial strength corset and cups. I tugged the outfit on and tried the zipper, but there was a four inch gap to be crossed. Hah, I knew it wouldn't fit. "I need a bigger size."

I jumped as Angela opened the door. "Turn." She barked through a mouthful of pins. When I complied, she grasped the sides of the dress and yanked them together. "Zip."

Blowing out a breath, I did as ordered and watched my waist shrink three sizes. Then I sucked in a cautious breath and groaned as my breasts popped high above the neckline. Red stained my cheeks. "But?"

"But nothing." She laughed. "Not so worried about the hem length now are you?"

Mute, I shook my head. She handed over an oval cocktail tray and shoved me toward the hallway. The Tahoe property is small and long before I was ready, I pushed my way onto the floor, wobbled past a bevy of towering Amazon Barbies and promptly hid between the slot machines.

I gave myself a peptalk. Everyone I knew at Caesars wore a uniform, so why was I embarrassed? It wasn't like I'd ever see my folks in the casino. Shoulders square, I stepped into the flow of traffic and blanched.

"There you are." Rob grinned, but he wasn't alone. "Mom, Dad, this is Kelly."

I registered silver hair, impeccable dress, smiling faces. Oh holy crap, dressed like Jezebel and face to face with June and Ward Cleaver. The tray trembled in my hands and I suffered a full body spasm. I'd kill him. The moment Rob's parents were out of sight I was going to kill him.

Oblivious, Rob rattled on, but eyes twinkling, Betsy clasped my hand in hers and we started to laugh.