THE LATE BLOOMER'S REVOLUTION
Chapter One
THE FIXER-UPPER
I grew up thinking my mother had the answer to everything. Watch any black-and-white film and she always
knew some obscure fact about an actor with one line. "See the fishmonger behind the ox, the one who's yelling,
'Slay the hunchback!'" she'd say. "His name was Skids Monroe. He came out of the Yiddish theater and was
tragically maimed in a Ferris wheel accident."
She knew about words.
"The term 'steatopygous' means characterized by fat about the hips and buttocks," she explained. She grabbed a
pillowy section of her thigh just below her tennis skirt, adding, "All of this, right here, is steatopygia, and once it
was considered not cellulite, but a highly desirable benchmark of fertility!" She pointed at me. "Remember that next
time you say you look hideous in a bathing suit."
And she knew about men.
For my mother there were only two answers to any question involving love: he'd be back, or I was better off
without him.
At sixteen, when my first boyfriend, Cliff Green, said we should see other people, ... read full excerpt from: The Late Bloomer's Revolution ebook
