~~ Editor Jan Fix ~~
As we crawl out of our winter caves and begin thinking about springtime, I find myself looking forward to all the buzzing delights of this time of year: Easter, March Madness, Pattie’s Day, bulbs flowering from the ground, prepping the lawn and garden, planning for spring break, not thinking about taxes. White shoes and snappy hats.
Then snap, I’m thinking about spring cleaning. Cleaning up my shabby self, a new haircut, getting rid of my winter rolls, using my sunscreen more regularly to prevent wrinkles.
Then snap, I’m thinking about wrinkles, which make me think of ironing. And ironing makes me think of this book: YOU CAN’T IRON A WRINKLED BIRTHDAY SUIT by Sharon Phennah.
The featured SNEAK PEEK today is from this playful novel by Ms. Phennah, who is a self-proclaimed dog nut (not doughnut) and woman of immense imagination and humor. To whet your appetite for a refreshing slice of this pie . . . here’s your peek:
Why did you two let me talk you into this?” Hazel wailed, righting herself and shedding her packs to bury her face in her hands. “You know I hate heights. What if this missions fails? And what about the media? All I could imagine on that ladder was my huge butt attached to wobbly, stretch-marked thighs.” Hazel howled through her fingers.
Grace rolled her eyes and walked away to inspect their rooftop domain.
Trying to reassure Hazel, Gus exclaimed, “So, what . . . I’M bathing beauty? THIS is fabulous ensemble? So chick, yet so comfortable,” she continued, yanking the crotch of her cut-off leotards below her knees. Next, she grabbed the spare tire around her belly, flapping it toward Hazel. “And this is my six-pack abs!” Into it now, Gus danced around, wagging her butt cheeks and flapping her underarm wings. “I’m a REAL sex queen if you’re into flab, cellulite, and blue veins.
And then snap, I am immediately reminded that I need to walk my dog.
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