It was the annual block party for Leavitt Avenue. A group of apparent new mothers gathered around a keg of Tecate Lite®. It was the farthest point from the horrendous Cure tribute band, Why Can’t I Be You? As if synchronized, each woman looked away from her phone focusing on Valerie. She cleared her throat realizing the need to project her timid peep.
There was a trace of sadness in her voice when she said, “Oh yeah, we’re doing great. Things are very good. In fact, last week, we went on a third honeymoon. Frankly, the greatest thing ever for a successful marriage.”
In the first time, she actually listened to herself. She was beyond aghast. Valerie Denbrowski may have been many things in her life, but she was never in any shape or form, a Trump sympathizer. She shivered when she recognized that she had adopted the cadence and vocabulary of that Goddamn idiot. The overexposure must have seeped into her subconscious. She tried to correct herself, but instead.
“I’m sure you know, and why wouldn’t you? Of course our marriage is tremendous. Anyone who believes otherwise is phony baloney.” She pointed wildly, yet vaguely. She continued.
“The kids are doing great things over there. Grant and Maisey. Look at how well they play together. So well. People will tell you that it’s bad for them to get along. Can you believe that? Who knows? Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. We’ll have to see.”
That evening, Valerie scoured the dark web hoping to find a safe and reasonable way to remove her cursed tongue