“The truth is, Steve ran away with our baby-sitter.”
We all gasped.
“She turned eighteen last month,” Valerie said. “I gave her a Beanie Baby for her birthday.”
Mary Alice whinnied. “I want some hay. Horses don't eat meat. Horses have to eat hay.”
“Isn't that cute,” Grandma said. “Mary Alice still thinks she's a horse.”
“I'm a man horse,” Mary Alice said.
“Don't be a man horse, sweetheart,” Valerie said. “Men are scum.”
“Some men are okay,” Grandma said.
“All men are scum,” Valerie said. “Except for Daddy, of course.”
No mention of Joe in the exclusion of scumminess.
“Man horses can gallop faster than lady horses,” Mary Alice said, and she flicked a spoonful of mashed potatoes at her sister. The potatoes flew past Angie and landed on the floor. Bob lunged out from under the table and ate the potatoes.
Valerie frowned at Mary Alice. “It's not polite to flick potatoes.”
“Yeah,” Grandma said. “Little ladies don't flick potatoes at their sisters.”
“I'm not a little lady,” Mary Alice said. “How many tinges do I have to tell you. I'm a horse!” And she lobbed a handful of potatoes at Grandma.
Grandma narrowed her eyes and bounced a green bean off Mary Alice's head.
“Grammy hit me with a bean!” Mary Alice yelled. “She hit me with a bean! Make her stop throwing beans at me.”
So much for the perfect little ladies.
Bob immediately ate the bean.
“Stop feeding the dog,” my father said.
“I hope you don't mind me coming home like this,” `'alerie said. “It's just until I get a job.”
“We only have one bathroom,” my father said. “I gotta have the bathroom first thing in the morning. Seven o'clock is my time in the bathroom.”
“It will be wonderful having you and the girls in the house,” my mother said. “And you can help with Stephanie's wedding. Stephanie and Joe have just set a date.”
Valerie choked up again with the red, watery eyes. “Congratulations,” she said.
“The wedding ceremony of the Tuzi tribe lasts seven days and ends with the ritualistic piercing of the hymen,” Angie said. “The bride then goes to live with her husband's family.”
“I saw a special on television about aliens,” Grandma said. “And they didn't have hymens. They didn't have any parts down there at all.”
“Do horses have hymens?” Mary Alice wanted to know.
“Not man horses,” Grandma said.
“It's really nice that you're going to get married,” Valerie said. And then Valerie burst into tears. Not sniffling, dainty tears, either. Valerie was doing big, loud, wet sobbing, gulping in air and bellowing out misery. The two little ladies started crying, too, doing open-mouthed wailing like only a kid can pull off. And then my mother was crying, sniffling into her napkin. And Bob was howling. Aaarooooh. Aaarooooooh!
“I'm never going to get married again,” Valerie said between sobs. “Never, never, never. Marriage is the work of the devil. Men are the Antichrist. I'm going to become a lesbian.”
“How do you do that?” Grandma asked. “I always wanted to know. Do you have to wear a fake penis? I saw a TV show once and the women were wearing these things that were made out of black leather and were shaped like a great big—”