“Tell me again, why are we taking a yoga class?” Joann asked as she tried to maneuver her body into what felt like the human equivalent of becoming a pretzel.

“To keep us limber and youthful, blending our physical selves with our spiritual selves. And to make our sex lives with our husbands more exciting,” Tanya replied.

“Oh yeah, I forgot—you’re sure this is going to help Larry and me in bed?” Joann said as she assumed the Lotus position. Both of her knees cracked loudly. “Ouch! I’m about as flexible as cast iron stove.”
“In time, you will become a flowing river of flexibility,” Tanya said in what Joann came to think of as her “all-knowing hipper-than-thou” voice. Read the rest of this article »

Marla stood leaning against the grill of her boat-like SUV. She had sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, a dazed expression in her eyes, and, with her arms dropped, palms outwards, resembled a martyr exhibiting her stigmata. The other women and I were exchanging words lazily as we prepared to enter the monolithic expanse before us.”And this also,” said Marla suddenly, “has been one of the dark places of the earth.”

She was the only woman of us who still “followed a blueprint” and believed in the infallibility of a delivery date. The worst that could be said of her was that she was overly friendly with the hired help. She was a home visionary of the highest order, but she was also an explorer of many styles, and that is where she differed from the rest of us home repair types. Read the rest of this article »

“Fluffy isn’t moving, Owen.”

“Whadaya mean?”

“I think he’s dead.”

“Nah, he’s just sleeping soundly.”

“No, Owen, he’s dead, as in not among the living; not drawing any breath; ceasing to exist-dead.”

Owen rattled his paper, folded it and with mocked effort and a heavy grunt, lifted his thick body off the tattered easy chair that had become attached to his ass since he’d retired from the NYPD. Read the rest of this article »

“So, he calls me the other day, not to say hello to the kids or tell me when the child support payment would be coming, but to ask me to make him lasagna!” exclaimed Lydia, while wringing the life out of the sponge into the sink. “The nerve of him. As if I’m going to drop everything that I’m doing to make that S.O.B. my lasagna. I told him to have his bimbo make it. And do you know what he said?” Read the rest of this article »