Free Best Friends, Occasional Enemies: The Lighter Side of Life as a Mother and Daughter (Reading Group Gold) by Lisa Scottoline, Francesca Serritella Page B
Authors: Lisa Scottoline, Francesca Serritella
kitchen cabinet and grabbed the spray Fantastik and a roll of paper towels. I got busy cleaning the entrance hall and the baseboards, to no avail. The scuffmarks still looked grimy and dirty, and now, wet.
I realized that the entrance hall hadn’t been painted in five years.
An hour later, I had a new plastic drop cloth on the floor, a girl-size roller dripping with fresh latex, and a slim paintbrush for getting in the corners. I started painting the entrance hall and blasted music on the iPod. I sang while I worked, and the dogs watched, all of us happy. I was happy because painting is more fun than cleaning, and the dogs were happy because they had a whole new wall to mess up.
I finished painting the entrance hall, and it looked so great and smelled fresh and new.
But then I noticed more scuffmarks in the family room.
And there were still songs left on the iPod.
So I got busy in the family room, which was the same color, called Beethoven. Though it was Sinatra on the iPod.
A few hours later, I had finished painting the family room, or at least as far up each wall I could reach, making do-it-yourself wainscoting. Also I didn’t bother moving the pictures and painted around them, which saved a lot of time.
Still everything blended okay, and it all looked so terrific.
And since I had plenty of Tony Bennett left, I went on a scuffmark hunt upstairs, where there was more Beethoven. I found a ton of scuffmarks in the second floor hallway, and I painted it through most of the night and the next day, after the dogs had fallen asleep and the iPod had segued into old MC Hammer.
Yes, I was Too Legit To Quit.
And by the end of the weekend, I had a freshly painted house.
And I knew I was Type A.
The End.
Security Complex
By Lisa
Most of the time I think I’m in sync with the rest of the world. And then there’s the times when I’m not.
Security scanners.
I just watched the TV news, and everybody is outraged about the new body scanners and pat-downs as they go through airport security. I’m not criticizing those people, but I travel all the time and I don’t feel that way at all.
On the contrary.
Scan me. Search me. Bend me over. Stick your finger in my ear. Do anything you absolutely have to do.
I’ll get over it.
Here’s what I won’t get over:
Being dead.
Yes, I know, the body scanners are an invasion of privacy. Yes, I have gone through them at three airports so far. And yes, TSA guys have already seen my ten-year-old underwire and my saggy white Carter’s, not to mention my butt mole.
And you know what?
I lived.
They may not have. At least, they have indigestion or nightmares, and I feel for them.
In fact, I’d like to bring a little sunshine into the life of those TSA types. All they get to do is look at driver’s license photos all day long. Can you imagine how much that stinks, especially given how we all look on our driver’s licenses?
So here’s what I say: Check it out, TSA dude. Knock yourself out. If looking at my scanned body does it for you, you have bigger problems than terrorists.
I’ve also had the new and improved pat-down, and I’m a fan.
Er, I mean, I’m not opposed.
Was it intrusive? You bet. I’ve had dates that didn’t get as far, and they’d bought me dinner. I felt embarrassed, giggly, and silly. How could I not? Someone I hardly know got to second base with me, in Terminal A. But you know how long it lasted?
Three minutes.
I forget, how long are you dead for?
Oh. Right.
Now, I’m betting that most of the people bothered by the security scanning are women, at least they were on the news. It makes sense to me. We’re congenitally modest, and even if we’re not, we tend to worry about someone running their fingertips over our muffintops.
I feel the same way. This would be a good time to let you know that I sucked in my stomach during my pat-down. I wanted my TSA date to think I was thin, even though she was a girl.
Old habits die hard.
The women on the
I realized that the entrance hall hadn’t been painted in five years.
An hour later, I had a new plastic drop cloth on the floor, a girl-size roller dripping with fresh latex, and a slim paintbrush for getting in the corners. I started painting the entrance hall and blasted music on the iPod. I sang while I worked, and the dogs watched, all of us happy. I was happy because painting is more fun than cleaning, and the dogs were happy because they had a whole new wall to mess up.
I finished painting the entrance hall, and it looked so great and smelled fresh and new.
But then I noticed more scuffmarks in the family room.
And there were still songs left on the iPod.
So I got busy in the family room, which was the same color, called Beethoven. Though it was Sinatra on the iPod.
A few hours later, I had finished painting the family room, or at least as far up each wall I could reach, making do-it-yourself wainscoting. Also I didn’t bother moving the pictures and painted around them, which saved a lot of time.
Still everything blended okay, and it all looked so terrific.
And since I had plenty of Tony Bennett left, I went on a scuffmark hunt upstairs, where there was more Beethoven. I found a ton of scuffmarks in the second floor hallway, and I painted it through most of the night and the next day, after the dogs had fallen asleep and the iPod had segued into old MC Hammer.
Yes, I was Too Legit To Quit.
And by the end of the weekend, I had a freshly painted house.
And I knew I was Type A.
The End.
Security Complex
By Lisa
Most of the time I think I’m in sync with the rest of the world. And then there’s the times when I’m not.
Security scanners.
I just watched the TV news, and everybody is outraged about the new body scanners and pat-downs as they go through airport security. I’m not criticizing those people, but I travel all the time and I don’t feel that way at all.
On the contrary.
Scan me. Search me. Bend me over. Stick your finger in my ear. Do anything you absolutely have to do.
I’ll get over it.
Here’s what I won’t get over:
Being dead.
Yes, I know, the body scanners are an invasion of privacy. Yes, I have gone through them at three airports so far. And yes, TSA guys have already seen my ten-year-old underwire and my saggy white Carter’s, not to mention my butt mole.
And you know what?
I lived.
They may not have. At least, they have indigestion or nightmares, and I feel for them.
In fact, I’d like to bring a little sunshine into the life of those TSA types. All they get to do is look at driver’s license photos all day long. Can you imagine how much that stinks, especially given how we all look on our driver’s licenses?
So here’s what I say: Check it out, TSA dude. Knock yourself out. If looking at my scanned body does it for you, you have bigger problems than terrorists.
I’ve also had the new and improved pat-down, and I’m a fan.
Er, I mean, I’m not opposed.
Was it intrusive? You bet. I’ve had dates that didn’t get as far, and they’d bought me dinner. I felt embarrassed, giggly, and silly. How could I not? Someone I hardly know got to second base with me, in Terminal A. But you know how long it lasted?
Three minutes.
I forget, how long are you dead for?
Oh. Right.
Now, I’m betting that most of the people bothered by the security scanning are women, at least they were on the news. It makes sense to me. We’re congenitally modest, and even if we’re not, we tend to worry about someone running their fingertips over our muffintops.
I feel the same way. This would be a good time to let you know that I sucked in my stomach during my pat-down. I wanted my TSA date to think I was thin, even though she was a girl.
Old habits die hard.
The women on the
Similar Books
The Live-Forever Machine
Kenneth Oppel
Thoreau in Love
John Schuyler Bishop
3 Loosey Goosey
Rae Davies
The Testimonium
Lewis Ben Smith
What Happens At Christmas...
T A Williams
Consumed
Matt Shaw
Devour
Andrea Heltsley
Organo-Topia
Scott Michael Decker
The Strangler
William Landay
Shroud of Shadow
Gael Baudino