Free Great-Aunt Sophia's Lessons for Bombshells by Lisa Cach Page A

was beautiful, and also convinced the viewer. S. uses this as proof that beauty is not based upon physical reality, but upon attitudes and expectations. If you behave as if you are beautiful, others will believe you .
Author pointed out that many models were prostitutes in real life .
Sophia’s arguments beginning to lack energy; responded to prostitute comment with weak sigh. Author feels Author may finally be getting through to S., and changing her mind .
Or perhaps Sophia’s enthusiasm for bombshell lessons is waning .
Either way, S.’s Scotch consumption notably on the rise .

CHAPTER
    7
    “G race, come in here. I have a surprise for you,” Sophia called from the Louis Quatorze living room.
    Grace froze like a burglar in the night, in midstep across the checkerboard floor of the foyer, her hands full of purloined chocolate chocolate-chip banana cookies fresh from Renata’s oven. Sophia hadn’t put her on a diet, but Grace knew her aunt’s sharp eyes observed every crumb that passed her lips.
    “Grace?”
    In desperation Grace eyeballed a potted palm as a cookie stash, but rejected its stems and soil—cookie spoilage danger!—in favor of caching the goods under her T-shirt, in the small of her back. She stuffed the hem of her shirt into her jeans, making a neat little pouch above her waistband. As long as she didn’t turn her back, Sophia would never see the warm, soft lumps of sweet heaven.
    With the cookies making gentle heating pads over her kidneys, Grace sidled nonchalantly into the living room. “What’s up?”
    Sophia sat perched on the seat of an easy chair, dressed in a white silk blouse and navy, high-waisted pants that Katharine Hepburn would have loved, her hair neatly held back in a tortoiseshell clip at the nape of her neck. A large cardboard box was open on the coffee table in front of her.
    “I’ve decided you need something more lively and hands-on than books,” Sophia said, looking pleased with herself. “Something to distract you from thinking too much.”
    Grace’s heart soared, one crazy, impossible thought suddenly filling her mind. What other “lively” thing could be in a big cardboard box other than: “A puppy? You got me a puppy!” she cried, overjoyed. Any moment now, a furry muzzle and black eyes would pop up over the edge of the box.
    “Why in heaven’s name would I buy you a puppy?”
    “No puppy?” Grace said, her smile dying. A small spark of hope flared back to life. “I don’t suppose it’s a kitten?”
    Sophia’s lips thinned. “Women who want to marry should not be allowed to own cats.”
    The comment surprised a laugh out of Grace. “You can’t have a logical argument for that.”
    “All a cat is is a surrogate lover. Instead of fawning over an animal that cares more about a can of Fancy Feast than about her, a woman should be out looking for a real man to take care of her.”
    Too caught between disbelief and horror to speak for several seconds, Grace put her hand to her forehead and shook her head, gaping at her aunt. “Where do I even begin ?” she finally said.
    Sophia flicked negligent fingers at her. “Let’s skip your part. It’s too predictable. ‘Women can take care of themselves, blah blah,’ yes, we’ve heard it all before. The part of the equation your kind never wants to see is that women need men just as much as they need us. Owning a pet diverts attention from seeking and securing that primary human relationship. A lot of men dislike cats, and I’m certain it’s because men sense the competition for a woman’s affection.”
    “For God’s sake, who’d even want a man who felt threatened by a cat?”
    Ignoring her, Sophia went on philosophically, “Of course, itnever helps the cat’s case when it craps in a man’s shoes while he takes the mistress to bed.” She shrugged. “But that’s neither here nor there, and nothing to do with what I’ve ordered for you. Come see.”
    Wary, Grace inched forward. With trepidation she