4th & Girl

“Don’t worry,” she said and took a sip from her morning coffee. “Anything that we sell has been tested and certified.”

“Tested?” I questioned with wide eyes and thanked Jesus himself that there wasn’t more to my job description. “Who in their right mind would be willing to test—” I glanced down at the package in my hands and read the label out loud “—‘King Dong Dildo’?”

Alma looked at me.

And I looked at Alma, and just before she opened her mouth to respond, I regretted asking the question.

“I test all of my own products,” she said.

“You test all of your own products?”

“Of course I do.” She looked at me like I was the crazy person out of the two of us. “What kind of business owner would I be if I couldn’t back my own products?”

There it was. I had my answer. Desensitization was impossible. It would take years and years of therapy for me to get past the trauma that had just left her lips and reached my ears.

Not that I thought little old Alma should be some kind of celibate nun, but for the love of God, I didn’t want to know the ins and outs of her sexual health.

Moving right along and ignoring the entire conversation that had quite possibly caused future brain damage, I hopped up from my chair and grabbed some extra bubble wrap from Alma’s garage.

Once I found what I needed, I went back inside and proceeded to pack up about fifteen King Dong Dildos, all the while I offered up a silent prayer for every single recipient.

Please, Jesus, keep Mindy Franklin’s lady bits safe. And when Sue Crosby gets this package in the mail, please encourage her to read the safety instructions prior to use.

In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

By the time King Dong was all packed up and ready to ship out to its next victims, I headed into Alma’s kitchen to make a fresh cup of coffee.

“You need another cup?” I called toward the dining room.

“No thanks, honey,” she responded. “Too much coffee will end up giving me the shits.”

“Well, by all means, the last thing we want is for you to get the shits,” I teased, and she just laughed.

“Tell me about it. I went to Applebee’s with the girls last week for dinner, and after eating a basket of boneless wings, I spent my night on the pot, farting up a storm.”

Thank you for that lovely tidbit of terrifying information, Alma.

I grimaced as I added sugar and creamer into my cup.

“You like boneless wings, Gemma?”

If she would’ve asked me yesterday, I would’ve said hell yes, but now, after she’d tainted them with her intestinal commentary, I wasn’t exactly craving a happy hour at Applebee’s. Or anywhere with wings, for that matter.

Buffalo Wild Wings, Wings and Rings, you name it, and she’d ruined it.

“They’re okay.”

“Personally, I’m a mild wings kind of gal,” she added as I walked back into the dining room and sat down. “I think that’s why I had the shits the other night. I went for the medium, thinking I could handle the spice.”

Are we really still talking about wings and Alma’s bowels?

“So, uh, what’s next on the agenda?” I asked by way of changing the conversation to something that wouldn’t ruin my appetite.

“Did you get all of the King Dong Dildos packaged up?”

“Yep,” I responded like it wasn’t weird at all for an elderly woman to say the words Dong or Dildo. “I figured I’d leave a little earlier today and drop them off at the post office before I head home.”

“Make sure you tell him its media mail.”

I wanted to laugh at her determination. “Alma, with all due respect, those big-ass packages aren’t going to cut it as media mail.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Uh…no…I know so,” I said and couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “I understand your creative attempts to thwart the system, but sweet Jesus, you’re going to have to pick something a little less monstrous to do it with. If anything, those insanely huge items will need extra shipping just to get them where they need to go.”

She smirked. “They are pretty big, huh?”

“Alma, they should come with a complimentary prayer card and an ice pack.”

“I’ll make note of that for future sales.” A soft, raspy laugh left her lungs. “And the next thing I really need you to help me with today includes moving some of the newest inventory from the garage into the dining room.”

I followed her lead toward the garage, but just before we stepped through the door, she paused and pointed toward a wooden-framed photograph hanging on the wall. “That’s my nephew Leonard I was telling you about.”

With braces, an awkward smile, and a bowl cut, old Leonard looked to be about twelve or thirteen in the photo.