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It's Easter Sunday, and as usual I’m ovulating. I splash on some Jean Naté, slip into my lavender rayon pantsuit, and walk down to the corner deli.
“Two packs of Benson & Hedges 120s and five Pick-4 Combo tickets, my usual numbers,” I says to the little Indian fellow.
“Happy Easter,” I says when he gives me my cigarettes and tickets. He points to that stupid dot on his forehead.
I get home and go upstairs. The little brats are still sleeping and it’s 11 o’clock. I light up a Benson and kick their door open.
They sleep right through that. I walk inside, drop my pants and squat. This time it’s gonna work. I squeeze real hard. Nothing. I scream at the top of my lungs and push – two fat white eggs slide out of my twat and drop soft on the shag carpet.
The kids wake up. Virginia rubs her eyes with her stupid little fists.
“What’s wrong, mommy,” the little fuck snivels.
“Are you going to make us Easter breakfast,” asks Billy from the top bunk.
I hike up my pants and take a nice long drag on my Benson.
“I want this sty clean before you come downstairs,” I says. “Fry up those eggs if you want to eat.”
Date Written: April 21, 2003
Average Vote: 3.5