I suspect that the tiny bubble under my left ring finger is the first sign of flesh eating bacteria, but I’m not going to say anything. If I so much as raise a concern, a concern for my health, the rest of them will jump right down my throat. There she goes again, ruining a Sunday evening game with her ridiculous hypochondria. My cousin Birdie is the worst – she’s “never been sick a moment in her life” and thus has no sympathy for us normal humans who are subject to rashes and boils, cancers and embolisms. Her husband dropped dead of a massive stroke and she was dating his cobbler within a week. Not being sick has allowed her think that she’s superhuman. If this is flesh eating bacteria, I won’t tell anyone at all. I’ll willingly let my flesh grow necrotic and fester as this game of electronic Monopoly continues, my fingers and arms growing soft and gray. When Birdie finally wins (as she always done, due to her lack of empathy for others and penchant toward usury), I’ll use the hat piece to slice to a tiny hole in my finger before I shake her hand, slathering her with the germs that will prove to be her downfall. I can’t wait for her to gain control of Park Place so the real fun can start.
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- The Huntington Ladies’ Book Club – February Meeting
- Pickle the Cheetah
- Karen the Personal Trainer
- Morton the Worm at the Usury Office
- My 5 Favorite Musicals and Why, By Carla Cioca:
- Mumu the Irrelevant Mime
- Tiny Tim – Post Revisted
- Ten Prior Moments that led Jenna to this Point:
- The O. Henry Affair
- Ben’s Night Out