"Who is this bitch?" the blond screeched, as Dad held me in check."This my daughter, Christy." Christy, this is Maggie," Dad said as he sat us both do...n on the couch beside him, the two of us glaring at each other.Suddenly the blond's mood changed. "Oh my God, Christy. I have heard so much about you. I feel like I already know you. God, I'm so sorry." Yeah, well, I don't know you from fucking Adam," I grumped."Chris, this is your brother Jason's wife, Maggie," Dad said with a smirk.Dad knew he. In the abstraction. I’ve even attended a few weddings — friends, classmates, the like. It’s not like marriage was catching, a communicative disease or something.But for a personal command performance ... well, maybe someday. Like in twenty or thirty years. Why milk the cow when it’s in your pasture? If I’ve captured the sentiment accuration-wise.Froggy’s family and mine lived on the same street our whole lives. Trish’s too. Brewster, Attenborough, McGovern. BAM! I discovered the anachronism. More

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