Free Camptown Ladies by Mari SanGiovanni

Dad’s woodpile.
    Eddie, however, was cruising along just fine, except for the fact that we were doing everything backward and the structure needed to be addressed before the cosmetics. Lisa had the money to burn, so Eddie was doing what he could to prep the rec hall and ready his decorating decisions. Today I was stopping by the rec hall on my way to get the leaf blower take another crack at managing the pine needles in the worst buried sites.
    Lisa was standing at the entrance of the rec hall, testing the ice cream inventory of Mom’s store by chomping on a vanilla filledwaffle cone thing and beaming at Eddie as if she had sired him. Lisa has a way of doing this; of claiming something with such convincing authority that I knew I would soon have to fight the urge to put my arm around her and offer the proud papa a cigar for the fine job she did raising her son to be a decorator.
    I stood next to Lisa at the doorway, marveling at the site of Eddie on all fours. He was humming “It’s Raining Men” while he scrubbed the urine-stained corners of the hall as Cindy-Lu sat nearby, hurt and disappointed that Eddie was ruining the urine perfume they had bonded over. She whined and he leaned until he was nose to nose with her.
    “I know, my darling. But the world doesn’t understand the beauty of these things as we do. Trust me, once the boys start drinking, there will be plenty more where that came from.”
    Perhaps the only thing gayer than watching a man with a pink boa scrub urine stains while singing “It’s Raining Men” is . . . well . . . my sister and I decided there just isn’t anything gayer. Eddie cheerfullyworked with his nine-pound supervisor at his elbow until the bleach smell drove Cindy-Lu to the farthest corner of the hall, disgusted by his choices.
    Lisa said, “I don’t like my dog hanging around this filthy floor. She sleeps with me, and a Miniature Doberman is like a heat-seeking missile in bed. I sleep naked, so sometimes I wake up with her so buried in my crotch that she’s wearing my labia like a Princess Leia wig.”
    “Charming,” Eddie said.
    “Keep singing, Eddie. I love that song. If only it could rain men, huh?”
    “Tell me about it, honey!” he said.
    Lisa said, “It would be great. The fall would kill most of them.” Pleased with herself, she took a dramatic lick from her ice cream.
    “What the hell are you eating now?” I asked her.
    “It’s called a Choco-Taco. Very yummy.”
    She turned the ice cream taco vertically and shoved it in my face and shouted, “Look, a vagina!”
    I pushed it away, but not before she had nailed my nose with vanilla.
    “I had Mom order these for the dykes. I got Drumsticks and Bomb Pops for the boys—they’re shaped like penises and butt plugs. Oh, and Hoodsie Cups. Despite the boring shape, there is just about nothing gayer than a Hoodsie Cup.”
    We both looked at Eddie, who was wiggling his ass in time with his scrubbing and humming. I should have known better than to point out when Lisa was wrong, but I tried, and she shoved the Choco-Taco in my face again.
    “Licking something taco shaped is the only thing that will cure you,” she said.
    I pushed it away again, but she shoved it into my face harder; this time, the ice cream entered my nostrils. I tried to push her away but it was pointless, she was too strong, and I was in a weakened state, choking and laughing. Years of different variations of the same struggle flashed before my eyes. The pool fight, the car fight, the beanbag fight, the shopping cart fight. They all ended the same: Lisa wins.
    “I’m doing this for your own good!” Lisa said, with such certainty I almost believed her. Still, I managed to bat her hand away.
    Eddie yelled over his shoulder at me, “She’s right, honey, it’s for your own good, just lick it.”
    “Girls! Stop that out there!” Mom yelled from inside the store.
    Eddie giggled, “Your mom called me a girl again.”
    “There’s no window. How