Asking For Trouble

Lottie

THE NEXT PERSON who tells me how great it must be to have five older brothers is going to feel my fist in his or her face. Because, believe me, being the youngest child—and the only one without a penis—in a big Italian Catholic family from Chicago, I can personally attest to the fact that it bites.

I would have been better off being left as a baby on the doorstep of some nunnery in the mountains of Austria. At least I might have had a little action from a cute shepherd passing by with his herd once I grew up.

I'm definitely hotter than a sheep.

Lottie Santori, that's me, the hotter-than-a-sheep girl. Yes, before you ask, I'm one of those Santoris—the big family who owns that great pizza joint on Taylor Avenue. If you haven't heard of it, I'm sure you've at least heard of my brothers. Either because of the way they plowed across the football field at St. Raphael's or the way they plowed through every girl at St. Raphael's. Most of my friends included.

And yes, before you ask the next question, I have a dirty mind and a big mouth and I don't take much crap off anybody.