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Bingo Queen

April 24, 2017

Takes her Twinings at 7,  gathers owl feathers for a cape she will never wear. Eats her soup at 10, walks the neighborhood again, picking everyone’s dandelions for bitter salad, back to her mystery novel, the one with the disappearing mailman. Sells her old quilts on Ebay, if Thursday, gets together to play bingo with the other neighborhood ladies, brings an item for the pot, usually laundry money or Little Debbies, but this time, feels compelled by the robin singing outside her window to bring Daddy’s Swiss army knife, and those lavender seashell soaps that are too pretty to use up. Ruby thought she brought too much, but Misty shook her head, these are gifts she needed to give up, nobody replied, but only smiled and kept shuffling their tokens in their papery hands because they, too, had run out of room for their husband’s tool boxes, coffee mugs and magazines, but wouldn’t dare empty their apartments of them, and god forbid purge the medicine cabinets of boar bristle shaving brushes, Bryllcreem, Aqua Velva, those sundries they savor at bedtime right after their gameshows, dabbing aftershave on their wrists, especially on lodge night, to keep their dreams free of their freewheeling Daddy- Os, or so Misty guessed as she showed them her blacked out card and picked the Nutter Butters and a puzzle book just in case she got caught in a downpour on her weekly trip to the dollar store, had to take that stinking bus full of coughing fits and back seat bingo


From → Bedtime stories

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