LITMIR.BIZ

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“If I had any doubts before about you being the reigning Queen of Shallow People, you just wiped them away. Allow me to let you in on a little secret. L.B. means Lunatic Bitch. Always has.”

      Expecting an angry response, Rebecca surprised me by laughing so hard she farted. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Stephen! That’s his pet nickname for me in the sack! How funny is that?”

      “Fucking hilarious,” I replied with a smirk.

      Rebecca stumbled away to find her husband, still chuckling as she rounded the corner to the living room.

      I did the same, yet made sure to keep my steps straight and head held high.

      Once I reached Carl’s side, I dug my nails into his forearm with enough force to draw blood. “Honey, would you please come help me get some more wine from the garage? We’re almost out.”

      “Oh, sure thing, sweetie,” Carl muttered, startled at my interruption and, probably, the pain in his arm. “Coco was just offering her condolences, weren’t you?”

      The biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen in person stared blankly at me. Maybe the doctor removed some of her brain matter and used it to overstuff her tits? That would explain the vacant, vapid look on her face. Her eyes were framed by at least two sets of false eyelashes, making her look like a real Barbie. The urge to rip them off and shove them down her throat until she choked hit me.

      Hard.

      “I’m so sorry about Renee. You must be devastated,” Coco said in a breathy whisper.

      What the fuck? The girl sounded like she was channeling Marilyn Monroe. Any second, she’d break out into “Happy birthday, Mr. President.”

      “Rachel,” I hissed through clenched teeth, a forced smile on my face. “And yes, I am. Please tell your mother we appreciate the apple pie.”

      “Thank you! I made it all by myself! Mom says the way to a man’s heart is through his—”

      “Excuse us, please,” I replied, giving Carl’s arm a yank, pulling him away before Blow-Up Barbie finished her sentence. “I need my husband’s help.”

      Coco smiled, revealing a set of teeth so white they looked like painted Chiclets. She turned and strutted down the hallway toward the living room. The sway of her hips hypnotized every male over the age of six in the room, and infuriated the females stuck watching their men’s tongues hit the floor.

      “Okay, you can remove your claws from my arm,” Carl mumbled.

      Rather than heading to the garage, I took a detour and pushed him into the guest bathroom. After shutting the door and turning on the overhead fan, I let him have it.

      “Are you insane? You do realize she’s underage, right? If you try and play around with that piece of plastic, you’ll end up in jail. Think about how that would devastate our daughter! That little bitch-in-heat is younger than our daughter! How would you feel if some of your friends drooled over Carol like that? Huh?”

      “Ah, honey, calm down. I was just talking to the girl. She’s really quite nice. Besides, I’ve only got eyes for you, Roxanne. Come on, let’s play around. I’ve read that funerals are a great time to have sex. The best way to deal with death is by doing something to make you feel alive.”

      Carl broke out into his favorite song, one that was cute the first 100 times I’d heard it. After the first 1,000, it ceased to be funny, especially since Carl sang it every single time he was in the mood.

      “Roxanne, you don’t have to—”

      Carl never finished his awful rendition of the song made famous by The Police. I ended the tune, and his amorous intentions, by knocking the wind from his lungs after balling up my fist and punching him right in his bulging watermelon. “Lay off the bourbon, Carl. Today is the day to mourn my sister, not attempt to put your dick into jailbait, or me, for that matter. Jesus, you’re pathetic.”

      I left my husband gasping for air in the bathroom, returning to the solemn festivities. After all, one must play the proper hostess no matter what mishaps occur, right? Anger made it impossible to recall which Rule Number that was, but I knew it was one of them, and I’m a suburban housewife—I am supposed to follow the rules.

      The question burning inside my mind of how much longer I’d let the rules govern my thoughts, attitude, and actions, made a wicked grin appear. Allowing myself a bit of release—first with Benny and now with Carl—was intoxicating. As I re-entered the kitchen, I put the mask of serenity back in place, almost a bit frightened from glimpsing my inner monster twice in one day.

      Almost.

      It was after 8 p.m. by the time the final, drunken guests staggered out the front door. Liz and Rebecca stayed, helping me clean up the kitchen. Per the usual nightly ritual, Carl locked himself in the study. I wondered how many times he’d get it up while imagining Coco Shock sprawled out naked, firm, giant ass up in the air, taking it like a champ up the ol’ wazoo. Considering how much bourbon he’d tossed back, he should be passed out, balls emptied, sleeping like a baby the rest of the night on the couch.

      God help the man if he tried to put the moves on me again. The evening might just end with a man’s balls getting sliced off after all!

      Demerit for me for bypassing Rule Number Ten.

      Do I care? Not in the slightest.

      Carol surprised me by helping clean up too. The girl who spawned countless arguments about the deplorable state of her bedroom, never once lifting a finger to help me keep the 5,000 square feet of house clean, worked by my side the entire two hours it took to return the home to normal. She even put down her favorite toy—a small pile of plastic and metal known as a cell phone, which never happened—and showed sincere interest in tidying our destroyed home.

      Thank goodness, because L.B. didn’t do much at all other than polish off another bottle of wine and eat leftovers. A few times, she snapped pictures of several floral arrangements then fiddled with her phone. I assumed she was tweeting or posting the images to some silly social media site. L.B. was obsessed with making sure everyone knew what she was doing at all times.

      The fascination by vapid, self-centered, and superficial fools like Rebecca, who assumed their pathetic lives needed to be shared with the world, made me wonder about where our society was headed. I get the need to have relationships with others—it’s an inborn human trait for people to congregate, from small family groups to neighborhoods, cities, states, and ultimately countries. But with the invention of the digital age came the loss of the real art of communication: Looking someone in the eye while talking, watching, and hearing the inflections in their voice or the emotions on their faces; the joy of going to the mailbox and discovering someone had taken the time to handwrite a note or send a card was yet another thing of the past I missed. Colorful emoticons inserted next to a sentence didn’t possess the ability to convey the real meaning or thoughts behind characters strung together to make words.

      I steered clear of the whole digital age, much to the dismay of my daughter, L.B., and even my friends. I didn’t care if they considered me some weird, old-school dinosaur. I wouldn’t risk putting something into the superhighway that would come back to haunt me later.

      I kept my eye on Rebecca while she tapped the keys on her cell, ready to pounce if she dared move her hands anywhere near my beloved Moscato.

      “Are you going to visit Grandma tomorrow?” Carol asked after putting the last of the silverware away. “If so, may I come too? I know she doesn’t understand Aunt Rachel’s gone, but I do, and I feel sort of bad she didn’t come to the service today to say goodbye.”

      I damn near dropped the vase of flowers in my hands. Wow, how much wine had I downed? Enough, obviously, I was hallucinating. Carol hated the memory care facility Mom lived in. The few times she’d accompanied me before, all she did was complain about the smell and how Grandma thought she was an old friend from high school rather than her granddaughter.

      “We aren’t going to see Grandma

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