Living on the edge can lead to waking up in bed with a stranger, having a severe hangover, and wondering where your panties got to. Not to mention concerns about whether protection was used and if you drove drunk. Or, if not, where is my car? Seeing a used condom wrapper on the floor when getting up to pee reveals one answer but leads to another question. Was the sex any good?
By living on the edge I mean going to bars and nightclubs alone and having no concerns about trying new drugs, drinks, or people. Running hard every night of the week after work. Staggering through another boring day at the office while the boss keeps trying to get in your pants. Hoping he doesn’t fire you for lack of interest in him or the job.
This time, I knew I was in trouble when I tried to get up and couldn’t because a chain was wrapped around my whole body. Uh oh! Had I entered the lair of a serial killer and would be complicit in my death? Looking around for a bed partner, I discovered that I was in my own bed and alone. What in the world? Before I could speculate, the door opened, and my mom walked in, carrying a plate of pancakes. If there’s anything that can make me gag it’s the smell of those odious gut bombs. Especially if they’re swimming in Mrs. Butterworth’s.
Ignoring my instant rage and discomfort, my mom smiled sweetly, then said, “There you are sleepy head. It’s about time you woke up, Wouldn’t want your breakfast getting cold, would we?”
“What the hell is this about?” I screamed. “And get that crap out of here or I’ll puke.”
Mom smiled indulgently before placing the offensive plate on my nightstand. “Now, now, dear. No need to speak to me that way. I’m only looking out for my little girl.”
“By chaining me up and forcing me to eat Bisquick? What are you up to? Is this another of your little schemes to reform me? You should know better than that by now.”
Mom pouted for a moment. “It’s just that I worry about you. Staying out all night. Sleeping with strangers. I hardly know you anymore. Didn’t Sunday School teach you anything?”
“Yeah,” I replied contemptuously. “It taught me that Reverend Jopner had dirty hands and loved to pull my panties down in the storeroom. Unchain me now and I won’t press charges.”
Mom got her indignant look on immediately. “You should be ashamed of yourself for such blasphemy. Reverend Jopner is on his way here now so we can pray for your redemption together.”
At that point I started bucking and squirming so hard that the newel post she’d wrapped the chain around broke. Using the slack that created, I wriggled until I was free. Mom retreated immediately, knowing I would be too much for her if I turned violent. I would never hit her, but she needn’t know that. Fear is a great equalizer.
It goes without saying that I flushed the pancakes before hopping in the shower. By the time I was dressed and ready for work, Reverend Jopner and my mother were at my kitchen table with hands joined and heads bowed. There was an intimacy between them that made me wonder if the reverend had pulled my mom’s panties down in the past. Oh my word! I thought. What if he still does?
“Just so you know,” I said on my way out the door. “I’m having the locks changed this afternoon. Next time you stick your nose into my business I might not be so forgiving.”
Reverend Jopner smiled sardonically. It was obvious now that he’d be happy to see me go. Hopefully, mom would change the sheets before leaving.