Mia: Shaken Not Stirred


The true life stories of a NYC female.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Miss Beverly Rides Again



Our neighbor Miss Beverly, a wheel chair bound woman prone to popping wheelies when tipsy, had gotten bagged by the cops. She'd been drunkenly chasing squirrels on her way home from a friend's barbeque. In lieu of a summons the cops decided to impound her motorized wheel chair over night. Since her son was stuck in mid-town traffic my uncle volunteered to fetch Miss Beverly back home from the precinct.


My uncle was met by Miss Beverly’s nephew when he parked in front of our building. After hearing about her latest antic the nephew reached into the SUV for Miss Beverly and attempted to lecture her. It was no use though he couldn’t keep a straight face. As he adjusted her in his arms he sniffed the air and frowned.

“Aunt Beverly did you pee on yourself?” he said as he walked into the lobby.

Miss Beverly cackled and nodded her head. “Sure as hell did!”

Her nephew was outraged thinking that she'd been the victim of neglect while at the precinct. Miss Beverly quickly assured him that that had not been the case.

“I wet myself on purpose.” She proudly exclaimed.

“Why would you do that?” her nephew asked.

“Well, nephew," she said looking up at him, "when they couldn’t get a hold of my son they was talking about locking me up in a cell with them other prisoners.”

“And?”

“I watch television; I know what those prisoners do to new inmates!”

Her nephew stared at Miss Beverly with a look of utter confusion on his face. Miss Beverly let out an exasperated sigh.

“Think boy, think! I made water so none of them would want to come near me!” she said and rolled her eyes as if he should’ve known this.

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Friday, April 24, 2009

I Hate My Dreams


She bounced into the visiting room happy to see me. No, I'm not that popular with the inmates. My visit got her a momentary reprieve from her punishment, she was allowed out of her cell for the duration of my visit.


“How you feeling today?” I asked as she took a seat across from me. “Stressed out”. She replied. “I just want to go home.” By the time we were done with our business visiting time was almost over. We sat in silence for about two minutes. “Thanks for the visit,” she said quickly jumping to her feet. She leaned over and shook my hand. “At least I got out of the cell.”

As she walked away I noticed she seemed tired and I remembered she had mentioned having trouble sleeping the week before. “Are you sleeping okay?” She shook her head and continued to walk way, “I hate my dreams because when I wake up I’m in prison” she said.

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Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Ritardo This Is For You…


In a recent post I commented that I’d met someone shorter than me. For those of you new to this blog I’m 4ft 11. My blog buddy Ritardo had this to say about that, “sorry, but I will admit I do like the shorties. My wife is 5 foot even. She hates it but I just don't know why.” Ritardo this one is for you...


You never find adult clothing that doesn’t need to be altered. Even the petite sized jeans need to be cuffed. By the time you're done altering those way cool jeans or slacks it took you forever to find whatever attracted you to them in the first place is long gone. Bell bottoms loose their bells; straight legs lose the ultra skinny leg look. Long sleeves extend over your fingertips and then some. Waist length coats and jackets never end at your waist... thighs is more like it.

Capri pants which are designed to end mid-calf or just below the calf end at your ankles instead…losing all of the Capri-ness in the end. Mini skirts come to your knees…micro minis are minis…and don’t even try to wear an off the rack broom skirt it’s not going to work, you’ll only end up looking like your playing dress up in your mama’s clothes. Oh man and let’s not even get into hosiery! I avoid panty hose because they are so long on me I can actually wear them as a strapless cat suit.

Then there’s the friends who like to tease...they’ll hold their hand out a couple of inches above your head,“you must be this high to enter” they’ll joke. They take photos of your dangling feet whenever you take a seat. No one and I mean no one ever passes the chance to remind you how short you are when they witness you struggling on tippy toes to reach something on a shelf. God love them they can’t help themselves. Oh yeah, then there are the tall male friends who L-O-V-E to physically pick you up and carry your around like a toy. I had a boyfriend one time sneak up behind me while I was talking to some friends lift me off my feet and run down the block with me as if I were some sort of football.

Friends live to give you little pet names pertaining to your lack of height...wittle won…little one…itty bitty....mini me...mini mia…the midget…pocket mia…shorty…short stuff…sweet and low. They look at your small hands and feet and say, “awwww” the only way to find a pair of proper fitting gloves is to buy them in the kid section. Then there’s slow dancing. You have to really careful when slow dancing with anyone over six feet tall because it easily looks like a porn flick in the making. And finally your parents purposely buy you a bed so tall that you have to jump up to get into it just so they can laugh.

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Saturday, April 18, 2009

Bitch Slapped By Life


I’ll admit it I have a bit of Countertransference when it comes to this particular client. It’s not that I see myself in him. Instead I see all of the homeless street kids my parents have taken in over the years and I know that if he’d been one of them his life would have been totally different.



At 21 he’s soft spoken, articulate, and intelligent. Until his home situation forced him out onto the streets he’d been a college student with good grades. But it’s kind of hard to stay in school when you’re scrambling for a place to sleep and food. I see the potential in him, if given the chance he’s going to go far in life. I am not alone in this; his lawyer sees it as well. I’ve worked out a plan that if the prosecutor and judge go for will keep him out of jail and give him the chance to develop his potential. I presented the plan to him and he liked it. I’d already spoken to his lawyer about it and she liked it as well. However I wanted to impress on him the importance of following it through.

“Sometimes life has to bitch slap you in order for you to get your act together. “ I said to him from across the visitor’s table and leaned back in my chair. I looked around the room, at the guards, at his prison uniform, and lastly at his face, “Consider yourself bitch slapped. Now it’s on you to slap it back and get your life together.”

He was momentarily stunned by my words, he hadn’t expected me to talk in the manner I did. He agreed with my sentiment and assured me that this was a wake up call for him and that he was going to rebuild his life.

Later on I bumped into his lawyer in the prison parking lot. “Mia, are you going back to the office or you heading out straight to school from here?” she asked.

I looked at the time, “Office, I’ve got a couple of hours to kill before I have to be in class.” She pointed to her car, “Come on I’ll give you a ride.” As soon as I was buckled in she started to laugh, “I can’t believe you told my client he’d been bitch slapped by life!” “He told you?” I asked. “Yeah he told me, you’ve made quite an impression on the kid.” I shrugged my shoulders, “Hey it’s true isn’t it?” She nodded her head. “You are just what we needed around here, a breath of fresh air. Welcome to legal aid kid.”


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Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Fate Has A Twisted Sense of Humor


“Mia, if you know any of the clients you’re ever assigned here let me know because I’ll have to pull you off that case and assign you another one.” I thought about the two people I knew that were currently in jail. Neither of them were here I assured my supervisor. But fate it seems often has a twisted sense of humor.


She'd just introduced me to my first client and he excitedly exclaimed,“Hey I know you!” My supervisor looked from me to him and waited for my response. “From where?" I asked. He couldn’t remember from where but he was certain he’d met me. “Maybe you met someone that looks like me.” I offered. He shook his head and pointed to my tattoos. "No way it was someone else, I recognize the tattoos. You have a fairy on the back of your neck too." The only way that tattoo is visible is if my hair is up and the fact that he knew about it meant that he was telling the truth.

“Maybe you’ve met a another girl with the same tattoos?” my supervisor asked. “He’s right I do have a tat on the back of my neck.” He seemed familiar to me too but I couldn’t place where I'd met him I told my supervisor. She decided that the fuzzy meeting didn’t warrant me being taken off his case although she did find it kind of funny that I hadn’t been in the prison for half an hour and already one of the inmates had claimed to know me. Meanwhile she’d been working in the system for years and neither she nor the other workers had come across anyone they knew. “The weirdest things always happen to me.” I grumbled as I wracked my brain trying to remember where or when for that matter I’d met the inmate. She laughed as she saw me struggling to remember, “It’s going to drive you crazy you know trying to remember.” She was right, it is driving me nuts. Fate really does have a twisted sense of humor.

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Monday, April 13, 2009

Way To Go Bruno!


My folks had gone off in search of cream cheese and I was left in front of the dairy case trying to decide what size container of ricotta we needed. A man approached the case, “Patty do we need any mozzarella?” “Yes!” his wife called from several feet away.


He grabbed a package of mozzarella and frowned when he couldn’t find the price sticker. “They’re on sale both the Polly-O and the Sorrento, 1.99 for the one pound package.” the elderly woman said looking up from her Pathmark flyer. “Thank you” the man said as he reached for three more packages. She noticed my tattoo and reached up to touch it and smiled warmly at me. She appeared to be somewhere in her 80’s and was a tiny thing several inches shorter than me, a white cap of curly hair framing her face. She must have been a beauty when she was younger.

“Did it hurt girly?” she asked.

“No m’am this one didn’t the one over my breast hurt like a mother though” I replied.

“Let me have a look at it.” She said. I bent over and pulled the neck of my t-shirt away from my skin to give her a look.

“Oh that’s lovely. Comedy and tragedy masks. You have a very nice rack by the way.”

I laughed, I just had to.

“Thank you.” I said.

She looked down at her bosom and shrugged her shoulders. “I remember when these were pert and perky just like yours.” She said.

“Enjoy them while your young girly.”

“I’ll try to m’am.”

She turned her attention back to the man and his shopping cart.

“You’re a good man doing the shopping for your wife.”

“You see this girly,” she said addressing me, “this is the type of man you need to find for yourself.”

Yes, m’am.” I replied putting the ricotta in my shopping cart.

“You should tell that to my wife. I always do the shopping” the man said.

His wife approached and smiled sweetly at the old woman.

“You’ve got yourself a good man there lady, in my day men wouldn’t be caught dead doing the shopping for their wives.”

The man put his hand gently on the old woman’s shoulder.

“See Patty she’s my number one fan!” Patty gave him a playful smirk.

“He should do something for me, I gave him 5 kids!”

“Five kids?!” The old woman gasped and a mischievous look filled her eyes. She nudged the husband’s side with her elbow.

“Oh you so like to play hide the wiener huh?”


Holy Monkey! Did that sweet old lady just say ‘ hide the wiener’?

I nearly dropped the package of mozzarella I’d just picked up. Patty gasped and blushed furiously from her cheeks all the way to her scalp it seemed. Patty’s husband simply laughed.


“Oh look how red she turned. Yes, Patty likes to play hide the wiener. Five wasn’t enough for her she still wants more.” The old lady cackled obviously pleased with the reaction she’d gotten.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of my dear. Passion is important in a marriage. You hear that girly?” She said this time addressing me.

“Yes m’am. I gotcha. Passion. Important."

“Just don’t over do it Patty, like I did. Men aren’t strong like us women.”

Patty opened her eyes wide looking at me as if I had any clue to what the old woman was saying. I didn’t.

“I killed him.”

thoughts of homicidal elderly women shades of Arsenic and Old Lace ran through my mind.

“Killed who?” Patty’s husband warily asked.

“My husband, I killed him with my passion.”

“Did you now?” He asked.

“Oh yes, I was riding him…”

Patty and I stared at each others our mouths dropping open, our thoughts judging from our facial expressions in perfect sync.

Oh shit!

The old woman seemed oblivious to our reaction. Patty was shocked and I was just struggling not let loose the laughter I felt rumbling in my chest.


“And he died right there, right under me,” the old woman continued, “he came and left at the same time.”

I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing. I liked this old lady.

“Not a bad way to go though.” Patty’s husband said.

“Yeah but now at the age of 88 I’m all alone.” She sighed.

“I’m so sorry. How long has it been since he died” Patty asked.

“He died six months ago.”

Hold up six months ago, this old lay was still doing the Mc Nasty at the age of 88?! Holy freaking Monkey. Awesome.

“I miss him terribly. Nobody could ring my doorbell the way Bruno did and he did it without the help of that damn Viagra pill.” She said proudly.

Patty’s husband raised his eyebrows he was impressed.

“Way to go Bruno!” Patty’s husband said raising his eyes reverently to the ceiling.


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Thursday, April 09, 2009

The Raisin


“Hold on a second," she said as she bent over to pick something up from the prison floor,“you popped a button.”


I glanced down at my polo shirt and checked to see if I was exposing any cleavage. Nope all four of my buttons were done up, none were missing. I didn’t feel any drafts whipping around my butt which meant my pants were still on my waist so I hadn’t popped a button there either.

“It’s not my button.” I said as she attempted to pick up the button with the tip of her nails.


“Ha! I got it! Hold out your hand.” she exclaimed in triumph and dropped the button into my upturned palm.

“This isn’t a button.” I said staring at the flat black object in my hand.

“It isn’t?”

“No,see for yourself.” I said holding it out for her inspection. “It’s a raisin.”

She studied the raisin in my hand and giggled. “It looked like a button.”

I tried not think about how long the raisin had been laying on the floor or how many dirty, filthy, and germ riddled mc nasty shoes must have stepped on it to get it as flat as it was. My thoughts drifted to my bag in the locker, the bottle of hand sanitizer in the front pocket calling out to me.

“I’m sorry,” she said still staring at the raisin, “I really thought it was a button!”

“No problem. It could’ve been worse; it could have been a squashed bug.” The thought of a squashed bug in my hand made me visibly shudder.

“It’s kind of sad actually.” I said

“How so?”

“For all we know this was once a plump juicy grape in the prime of life when it arrived here but living behind these prison walls sucked all the life out of it. Maybe it was hoping to spend its final days in a cookie or a warm bowl of oatmeal and we just foiled his escape.”

She laughed and held out her hand. “Here you go officer, lock him up put him back in his cell.” I said as I dumped the raisin in her hand.

“You’re the new social worker?” she asked.

“Yup, I was just meeting my clients.”

“How often are you going to be here?” she asked dropping the raisin into the waste basket near her feet.

“Once a week.” I replied

She wiped her hands on her uniform pants. “I look forward to your visits.” she said smiling as she walked away.


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Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Flying Shoes


I was surrounded by mayhem. I was acting as a physical barrier between several teenagers intent on beating the snot out of each other. The few adults present were of no help, it was their kids that were fighting so instead of helping they just made things worse.


My Yeti stepped off the elevator and walked straight into the mini riot. There had to be at least 25-30 people in the narrow hallway and I was in the center of it. The Yeti took one look at the situation and dove right in tackling a couple of boys who’d started a side brawl behind me. The Yeti lifted one of the boys up in a bear hug and carried him straight into his apartment and then came back for the other and ordered them both to remain inside before he really got angry. “Does he play football?” one of the boys asked. “He used to, I replied, “he was a quarter back until he shattered his knee.”

Some of the teenagers and adults started arguing with me. I quickly squelched the most vocal branch of the kiddie’s ‘let’s disrespect Mia’ brigade with a couple of reprimands. It wasn’t that simple with the adults. A couple of women in their early thirties were screaming at the top of their lungs at me. I just knew they’d been trouble makers in school they had that look about them, the kind that rolled their eyes and back talked the teacher. When my dad walked out of the elevator everyone seemed to calm themselves down. They were still yelling and cursing up a storm but no fists were flying and no one was attempting to charge at each other anymore which is a good thing because it had been awhile since my last work out and my arms were starting to kill me from holding everyone back.

Seeing my father there made one woman particularly brave, the woman had no idea the man was my father. People always get thrown off by my appearance versus that of my father. While there is no denying my brother who is the spitting image of my dad or my sister who resembles both sides of the family people get a puzzled expression when it comes to me. My dad is tall, dark blonde, straight haired, olive complected and green eyed. I am darker than both my parents with curly light brown hair with streaks of copper in it and light brown eyes. When friends meets my mom they’ll always comment on my resemblance to her when they meet dad however they have to squint a bit before they find traces of him in my face.

The woman in question was not squinting, she was just mad. She started cursing me out and I reprimanded her, "Why are you yelling at me?” I asked. “I am not disrespecting you. I expect you to give me the same courtesy that I am giving you.” The woman’s sister called out to my father, "Willie you better come over here and get your daughter!" My dad approached me and smiled, "Hey little one,” he said. "Hi pa" I replied. He glanced over and sternly told her, “she seems to be doing fine.”

By this time the kids who'd been involved in the fight were trying to explain to me what had caused the fight. "You don't have to explain nothing to that bitch!" the angry woman who’d gone to high school with my uncle yelled out from behind the teenager. The boy waved her off and continued to talk to me. She charged towards me stopping a foot or so away and launched into verbal tirade. She looked as if she wanted to hurl herself at me with each vulgarity she uttered she stepped closer to me. The angry woman glared at me, oh yeah she wanted to kick my butt, it was so written all over her face. She began removing her shoes.

It’s an old school move, one I had only heard of but have never actually seen. According to the chapter that covers fist fighting among women in the Ghetto 101 manual when fighting in doors women are advised to remove their shoes in order to gain traction. I watched as she slowly toed off her second shoe. I looked at my dad and shrugged my shoulders he looked just as confused as I was. It made no sense to me that she’d taken off her shoes after all I still had mine. All I had to do was stomp on her bare feet and it was a wrap for her.

She tossed her shoes aside and I found myself genuinely smiling at her. Without her shoes she was shorter than me! I rarely come across someone who is actually shorter than me unless they are a member of the lollipop guild or have osteoporosis so when I do I must stop and savor the moment. I gave her an even bigger smile. I was enjoying being the taller one for a change. I quickly snapped out of my euphoria and wagged my finger in her face, “You need to calm yourself the fuck down and back off.” I told her. The crowd was shocked. None of them had ever heard me curse in the 18 years that they’d known me and there’s a reason for that. Even though I may throw a cuss word here and there on the blog in real life I am not a cusser. Instead I use substitute words for cusses for example, ‘mother hubba’ and ‘son of a fish’, well you get the idea. I have to be really, really, really mad before an actual swear word pops out.

She hesitated for a couple of seconds and picked up her shoes and went to stand beside her sister. As the kid resumed his explanation a shoe flew by my face quickly followed by another and landed behind me. I recognized the shoes as they sailed past. Not only was she short but she had crappy aim. Just as quickly the shoes were flung back at her by someone standing behind me. This person had great aim, this person also had strength and obviously this person played baseball from the speed the flying shoes had on them. The shoes hit the woman dead center in her forehead one after the other causing her head to snap back from the impact each time leaving heel imprints on her forehead. “Well that’s going to leave a mark.” I said to no one in particular. I turned to see who had thrown the shoe, it was my uncle. That pretty much calmed the woman down, that and the police officers that had just stepped off the elevator.

“Nice throw.” I said to my uncle as I watched the cops make their way towards us.

He smiled shyly at me, “Yeah well no one throws shoes at my niece.”

“Thanks man.”

“No problem, I figure that makes us even for the time I slapped you across the forehead with the baked chicken.”

I shook my head at him, "It was rotisserie chicken, the fat dripped down my face." I said.

He stepped back and chuckled at the memory, "So I still owe you huh?"

"Damn skippy you do." I replied.

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Sunday, April 05, 2009

Time For Me To Fly


“Pick your battles, kiss his ass for a little while, it’s almost over, you need his recommendation for grad school, and he determines your grade so just go along with whatever he says.” This was the advice I was being given by staff and interns alike on the best way to deal with my tyrannical mentor.


I was at a cross roads in my life. I stuck my head out the window to look up at the sky, it helps me think. Mom was blasting REO Speedwagon’s Time For Me To Fly singing along as she cleaned the kitchen.
time for me to fly
Oh, I’ve got to set myself free
Time for me to fly
And that’s just how its got to be
I know it hurts to say goodbye
But its time for me to fly


Oh yeah man it was definitely time for me to fly, time to set myself free. With less than six weeks left until graduation I decided to drop out of the social work program. My sensei had started with the best of intentions but he’d bitten off more than he could chew. We couldn’t go on like this or rather I couldn’t go on like this dreading Monday’s because it meant I’d spend the week in the presence of my sensei walking on egg shells awaiting his next explosion.


My mentor had attempted to mold me in his image.I wasn’t allowed to have an opinion that contradicted his if I did then I was in the wrong and not seeing my faults. “Pick your battles” became my mantra. I passively resisted his efforts to change me. I’d rather be a first rate version of myself than a second class version of someone else. My resistance angered him and he’d lash out. He mistook my silence for weakness and became arrogant because of it, so certain of his domination over me. I won’t lie he did manage to break me. I was furious with myself because I’d allowed him to make me doubt myself then I recalled a quote I'd read somewhere, “Anyone worth knowing has been broken at one time or another.”

I informed the school of my decision to drop out and was met with resistance. I told them that under no circumstances would I return to my mentor once spring break was over. I’d made up my mind and that was it. I am notoriously stubborn. “You know things are pretty bad when you get stomach cramps at the sight of his number on your caller ID.” I’d told them. After sorting through the facts they finally understood where I was coming from and scrambled to find me a new internship not an easy feat with the end of the semester so close. It struck me as funny when they informed me that despite his constant criticism of me his reports about me to them had been complementary. Didn’t I tell y’all once he was nuts?

One of the therapists heard of my plight from another intern. “Tell Mia I’ll mentor her. I can use her here.” The therapist had wanted me to work with her since last year but my mentor had refused her request along with the requests of others who’d asked to have me work under them. When my school informed my mentor that I’d quit him he was angry. When they told him someone else had offered to mentor me he was livid and said that having me work at another department in the clinic was a conflict of interest. It made no sense to me or anyone else. Knowing him the way I do it boiled down to this…payback and pride. My presence at the clinic would embarrass him and be a constant reminder that I’d walked out on him. He knew that without the internship I would fail to meet the necessary requirements for my degree. This was his way of getting back at me for leaving him. The coup de grâce was his refusal to allow me to terminate with my clients. I was concerned about a paranoid physcophrenic client who'd become very attatched to me. I didn't want her to think that I was abandoning her because of anything she's done. My school and the other therapists were shocked by his refusal.Sadly it came as no surprise to me. My experience with him had taught me that he’s really big on retribution.

Everyone was worried about my future except me, I was at peace. I’d switch my major to clinical psychology I decided. It would delay my plans by a couple of years but in the end I’d reach my goal. Deep in my heart I knew everything would turn out fine. I am also an optimist. At the very last minute I got a call from the director of my program. My field supervisor was doing something unheard of; she was going to be my mentor. “You’re going to be working in legal-aid” I was informed. I laughed softly. Funny how one door closes and another opens bringing you exactly what you’d been dreaming of. I’d studied criminal law while working towards my forensic psych degree. It has always been my goal to work with teenagers and young adults in the prison system and my dream was being handed to me. I start Tuesday.

“Mia, has he called you?” my supervisor asked the other day. “No, he hasn't.” She suggested I call my mentor and end things on a civil note. “He won’t take my call,” I warned her, “he’s angry at me. Rumor has it he’s not handling me leaving him well and the staff and patients are mad at him because I left."

I e-mailed my former sensei a note expressing my regret that we had not been the right fit for each other professionally and thanked him for having invested the time in mentoring me. I wished him continued success in all of his endeavors. He hasn’t replied to my e-mail nor do I expect him to. I am for the first time in a long, long time at peace and looking forward to Monday's.

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Thursday, April 02, 2009

The Thing On The Floor



Something on television reminded me of an incident that happened when I was around 12 years old. My mother’s cousin Yvette and her life partner were moving and the troops in this case her two sisters and my mom were called in to pack up their apartment while Yvette, her partner and the men of the family transported the furniture to their new place.

My family firmly believes in free labor and in dragging their kids with them every where they go and when they can combine the two it’s like heaven for them. This is how ten under aged kids ended seeing that thing on the floor.

Our job was to transport books and knick knacks from the all over the apartment to the adults packing boxes in the living room. Everything was going smoothly until my cousin brought out a metal canister and handed it to her mom. The canister looked like a gag gift, you know the ones that when you screw the top off shoot snakes out at you? You know the ones I’m talking about. Well anyway my cousin handed the canister to her mom ‘Chickie’. The canister didn’t fit in the box Chickie was packing so it was set on the table awaiting the next box that was being set up. Just then Chickie’s sister Marisol emerged from the bedroom with a pair of filigree earrings in her hand.

“I found these on the closet floor. Where’s the box with the jewelry?" She asked.

“They took that stuff already. Those earrings will get messed up in these boxes.” Mom said.

“Oh I know where we can put them!” Chickie said reaching for the canister.

“Where?”

Chickie shook the canister in her sister’s face.

“In here! You hear that? There’s something heavy in here. Knowing Yvette she probably stashes stuff in here.”

All the kids gathered around expecting snakes or something to shoot out of the canister, nothing came out; whatever was in there was stuck. Chickie slid two fingers into the canister trying to pry whatever was in there out. She let out a blood curdling shriek and flung the canister onto the floor. We weren’t ready for what happened next… out popped the biggest rubber dildo I’d ever seen in my life. Granted it was the first dildo I’d ever seen but still even now in my now adult mind it still seems gigantic.

Mom and her cousins froze on the spot. They were speechless. My cousin’s and I warily circled it. We were amazed. Naturally I was the first to open up my yap, “They have pee pees in plastic? You can get that? Why would you need that? Why would you do that?” I asked.

“IN THE ROOM NOW!” one of my aunts yelled.

“I thought Aunt Yvette didn’t like men, why would she need that?” One of my cousins asked.

“IN THE ROOM. NOW. AHORA MISMO!” Aunt Mari yelled her eyes about to pop out of her head.


“Where’s the ballies?” cousin Bobby asked.


NIKI TAKE THEM INTO THE ROOM!” Bobby’s mom aunt Chickie yelled. “AND DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING IN THERE!” she added.

My teen aged cousin Niki leaned down and whispered, “I’ll explain it to you later.” “Let’s go guys”, she said in a louder voice, “you heard them everybody in the room now.” Niki ordered.

We went into the room willingly with huge smiles on our faces. We were dying to grill Niki for information about the thing laying on the living room floor. From the living room we could hear my mom and her cousins arguing in between giggles.

“Pick it up Maggie”

“Oh hell no she’s your sister!”

“Oh bitch don’t give that she’s your sister shit now. Our mom’s were sisters… we grew up 2 blocks away from each other. We spent every single day of our lives together, even now! We’re all sisters!” Aunt Mari exclaimed.

“I’m still not touching it. I was never that fond of Yvette.” Mom said.

“Me neither,” said Aunt Mari, “I was always closer to you than her.”

“Come on Mags pick it up.” Chickie pleaded

“I don’t want to! I don’t know where it’s been!” mom whined at her cousins. No one said anything for a second and then they burst out laughing.

“You know where it’s been!” Chickie said.

“Eww!” one of them shrieked

“Chickie, you should pick it up you’re the one that opened the can. ” Mom said

“Mags should pick it up she’s the oldest.”

Mom mimicked Aunt Mari, “she’s the oldest…oh yeah now I’m the oldest too bad that never worked when we were kids. Mari I’m only a month older than you …you pick it up!”

“I’m not touching it! ” Mari said.

“What was Yvette doing with that thing? Chickie asked

“Chickie, how many kids you’ve got again?” Mari asked.

“Shut up. How big is that thing anyway?” Chickie asked.

“Go get the tape measure Chickie and while your down there measuring it you can put it back in the can.”

“Go screw yourself Marisol” Chickie shot back

“And thanks to your sister’s toy you can do it too Mari” mom said.

“Let’s do paper, rock, scissors whoever loses picks it up.” Mari suggested.

By this time we’d staged a mutiny and Niki wasn’t able prevent us from rushing back into the living room. We all wanted to see who was going to pick up the thing we now knew thanks to Niki was called a dildo and what is was used for. Trust me we all looked at our aunt Yvette and her life partner a little differently after that. Come on we were kids after all.

My aunt Chickie lost. “Tongs, I need tongs!” she yelled. You would’ve sworn the thing was alive from the way she circled it trying to figure out the best angle to grab it from. Aunt Chickie approached the thing on the carpet as if it were going to fly up off the floor at her.

“Hurry up Chickie!” her sister yelled

Chickie squealed and closed her eyes as she shot out the tongs at the thing on the floor. As soon as Chickie had it gripped in the tongs mom and Aunt Mari let out a big whoop. Chickie opened her eyes and hoisted the dildo over her head as if were a trophy she’d won. Mom and Aunt Mari were dancing around her when my father and two uncles walked in through the door.

“What the hell?” one of my uncles exclaimed before he burst out laughing.

My dad looked up at the dildo Aunt Chickie was still holding over her head and narrowed his eyes at the women.

“I swear to God babe I can’t leave you and your cousins alone for a minute can I ?” he said.

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