*puani gordum korkuyorum*
But then I slipped on a patch of ice and fell spread-eagle on my driveway,
facing Lorna Gibson’s house. I was wearing underwear at least, but the tie
came undone, and a boob popped out, prompting the old woman to clutch
her rosary and perform the sign of the cross a dozen times.
I tuck the girls back into place and climb to my feet, groaning at the
throbbing ache in my tailbone. I wave to Lorna, who dropped her own mail
and is staring up at the Heavens, surely praying for God himself to strike
me down. “I’m okay!” I call out with forced cheerfulness. She ignores me,
still chanting her Hail Marys. “The leopard print panties are on sale at
Victoria’s Secret if you were curious. Super breathable!”