Free My Soon-To-Be Sex Life by Judith Tewes

loose in rapid-fire succession.
    â€œRetreat, retreat!” the boys cried, veering off, rivaling jets in complex aerial maneuvers.
    I showed no mercy.
    My exuberant movements sent my hat flying, revealing my long auburn locks in a typical oh-my-God-it’s-really-a-girl moment.
    The boys gasped.
    â€œIt’s Charlie,” squeaked the closest one, and I recognized Owen under the scarf he’d wrapped around his head.
    I growled, baring my teeth.
    Blindsided by an ice ball to my shoulder, I began to panic. Ice balls – the ultimate snowball. Only the patient and truly heinous can master their construction – the snow is packed and melted, and packed again. Gradually it becomes a solid sphere of ice, in much the same way coal is compressed in the depths of the earth for millions of years to form diamonds.
    I pin-wheeled and nailed a stop sign with my face.
    The boys gasped again.
    I saw squiggly comets for a few seconds.
    â€œWhich one of you little fuckers threw that?” I screamed.
    No one answered - they had taken off while the world was still coming back into alignment. But Owen’s time would come. I’d see him at supper. I had hours to come up with a retaliation plan.
    And so it was I arrived at Eric’s not-so-Italian, Italian restaurant in a flasher-style coat, my hair matted and wild, a trickle of blood oozing from my temple.
    Someone who must have been his mom answered the door, she had his nose.
    â€œHi,” I said, with a brilliant smile. “Can Eric come out to play?”

Chapter Twelve
    â€œErrric?” The woman dragged out the syllables in slow, dentureless Monty speak, and examined me from weathered boots to raised-by-wolves hair. I resisted the urge to pat down my unruly locks. “I’m sorry, dear.” She shook her head. “There’s no one here by that name.”
    â€œYou know,” I prompted. “Eric. Tall. Messy brown hair that kinks up at the ends.” I cocked my head. “He works in the back, with the pasta and the spaghetti. Look, it’s early and you’re not open and I’m not at my best, it’s been a kooky morning, but could you please tell him I’m here?”
    A gust of wind blew over my shoulders, sending a blast of cold around me and through the open door. A shiver caught me off guard and I pulled Monty’s coat tight around my waist. The woman’s lashes flickered in sympathy. She took a step back and I thought I had her. I’d tapped into her mother instincts. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she abandoned me to the harsh weather.
    Then, unexpectedly, her just-like-Eric’s nose twitched, nostrils flared. Instead of welcoming me inside, she narrowed the gap in the doorway.
    Clearly the lady had smelt something unpleasant, and insinuated it was me. Uh oh, she was one of those. Some people, especially older people, can’t handle it - wet kid smell. I’d even noticed the distinctive odor a few times from Owen, so I understood the repulsion.
    I inhaled a bit to see how bad it was and got a nose, mouth, lung blowing whiff of my own stench.
    Filthy McNasty.
    Monty obviously didn’t waste money on dry-cleaning his fresh-off-the-corpse finds before hanging them in his closet. Cheap bastard. No amount of warmth was worth this. Snow and dampness had sunk deep into the aged wool, awaking a putrid blend of B.O., Brylcreem, and Gold Bond.
    I didn’t know how to explain the injustice, the reek was all me, and yet it wasn’t ME. Where was a jug of Febreze when you needed it?
    â€œLook, forget Eric.” I moved away from the door, sparing her further Charlie-fume exposure. “He’s not the issue anyway. My friend and I were here last night and forgot our coats at our table. Eric said he would put them aside for us.” I waved a hand along my torso. “As you can see, I’m wearing a loaner and it’s not quite up to par.”
    The woman’s