Chapter 1

Six hours after climbing into our overloaded, elderly Suburban, we finally pulled up in front of my Aunt Sally’s house. I remember seeing a movie where, after a long car trip, an old car committed suicide: the doors fell off, the bumpers fell off, the hood popped open, and steam and smoke poured out. You get the idea.

I half expected the same to happen to our huge old SUV the moment we stopped. All day, the three of us sweltered in the front (bench) seat; the A/C hadn’t worked for years. A spot on my lower back stuck to the old vinyl where my T-shirt had ridden up. We needed to sit together because the rest of the space contained all of our family’s remaining possessions.

As we drove, sweat trickled down my neck and soaked into my gray (formerly white), too-small Walmart bra. After eating lunch, we went into the McDonald’s bathroom together to wash the fryer oil off our hands. Debra, my equally uncomfortable sister, said, “Fuck it,” pulled her T-shirt off, and stuffed her stained bra in her bag.

Over at the next sink, Mom looked up at Deb’s reflection and said, “Smart! Terri, you should, too.”

Mom removed her shirt and bra, then advanced to genius level by wadding up her own T-shirt and soaking it under the tap. Deb and I quickly soaked ours, too. I put my damp shirt back on over my bra. Unlike my sister, I wasn’t as willing to show my nipples in public.

Of course, with the A/C in the restaurant, their nipples stiffened. Mom and Deb walked out of the ladies’ room visibly erect. A geezer saw their nipples and graciously held the door for us, smiling broadly.

Mom told him, “Thank ya’, hon!” She always appreciated being looked at by both guys and gals. It happened all the time, because the label on the bra in her bag said 40D. Deb? The same. I mean, about enjoying attention. She had a 36D (my size) that fit her much better than my own bra did, damn it.