Earning wisdom. Sharing it - should anyone be interested.
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She was the Princess in the workplace and I was most certainly not. The Princess, a Prince lined up, regaled everyone with the flotsam and jetsam of her courtship, Country Club wedding, honeymoon. We listened. And listened.
She barely worked at all. And this was allowed. Because. She got the job because she really was a Princess, a Mafia Princess. Every workplace had one.
The city bar with bouncers. He saw her across the room and knew he wanted to marry her instantly. How he treated her mother with respect. That he cried when he saw her in her wedding dress for the first time, walking up the isle. A bad boy. He wanted it all and fast.
Before they went to lay on the beach, he got out the nail clippers and clipped away her toe nails.
Spare me.
Him driving her to the hospital to give birth, the baby crowning in the back seat. The honorific Natural Breeder.
He was ambitious. He always wanted more. He got arrested and went to prison.
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She was pretty. Demure. Attached and ironed. Finally, someone, perhaps tired of doing their own job and whatever she'd been hired for, gave her a warning. Dee Dee could you open that box of dresses, hang them and steam them?
She tilted her head towards her shoulder, just a moment shrug, and with a faraway look in her eyes said, "Hey you, get off of my cloud."
C 2021
