For Thanksgiving this year I flew to Palm Springs to spend the holiday with my father’s second and third ex-wives. They retrieved me from the hot airport, bleached and perfumed, waxed and snickering about Phyllis’s new man friend.
“Do I have to learn his name,” I asked grumpily, “or will he last that long?”
During the three-hour drive to the coast we were lost twice, fought once, and asked a very masculine lesbian to take our picture. She peered through the viewfinder, her face wrinkling perplexedly. “This is a tiny hole…”
“Don’t get personal!” I choked with laughter as Phyllis pulled down her neckline to tease the woman.
We were late for my half-brother’s dinner. His new girlfriend hosted us at her beach bungalow. She was lovely, and she was on best new-girlfriend behavior. The evening drive back to the desert was cool and traffic-free. We cracked a bottle of some exquisite Muscat in Phyllis’ overgrown back yard. I told them I would write about our day.
Kelly, whom I used to hate, arched an eyebrow and leaned over to kiss me. “In that case Miss Kim, you had better write it so they like all three of us!”
Dianthe Kim Carson [Colorado Springs, CO] is 50 years old, and a recent escapee from corporate America. She teaches yoga, rides motorcycles and writes, hoping to rekindle her life and what she once considered her writing talent.
© 2008 Dianthe Kim Carson. Original for CCF (Kim Carson grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).
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