Port Of Call

The last excerpt I'm posting here of How To Own and Operate A Haunted House. Thanks so much for all the encouragement, comments, and for reading.

We go to Ridgmar Mall, the first time I’ve ever driven here. Usually I’m the passenger of Mother or Melissa, but I feel like so much bad has happened that I’m kind of beyond fear, like the great moment in The World According To Garp where Robin Williams sees the plane crash into a house and claims they have to buy it because it’s disaster-proof.

“So what are we looking for?” Hank asks as we peruse the junior section at Dillards.

“Something besides these nasty-ass jewel tones. I want a dress that has some class. No shoulder pads,” I say.

Hank holds up a black and white flowered shift to his face for closer examination. “I think this rack is all way too Mrs. Roper on Three’s Company.”

“Agreed,” I say. “I already have a closet full of ugly. What do you think about this one,” I say, holding up a black sleeveless dress.

“That looks like a tank top on steroids,” he says.

I put it back and start to cry.

“This is really awful. I can’t believe she’s dead either. The whole thing is just so stupid and tragic,” Hank says, patting my shoulder. When someone turns our way, Hank stage-whispers to her, Whatever you do, don’t try the My Michelle line. They haven’t learned the art of size inflation.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"My wound is geography. It's also my anchorage, my port of call." Pat Conroy

Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestions anyone? Any good holiday movies?

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!