I traveled globes! I was as close to I knew, but then forgot, how to use a evil as I ever got when I thought about breast pump—a single mom’s nightmare! throwing the baby out the window, —even my friends with size Cs had to every mother’s fantasy I learned later, labor for one measly ounce of blue milk. but at the time I didn’t know.

Everyone heard me snoozing after I’d wake up, insert my finger between I drank a whole bottle of beer— my nipple and Swee’pea’s sleepy mouth I never snored until I started nursing! —disconnecting him, letting him go.

I didn’t get breasts until World War II, Sometimes I just poked around the breasts and a poofy new hairdo and pumps— bottom of rubble. It was unfair—I felt then they pinned me to the tip of a bomb, like a b-movie actress—and most of all I just like Rita Hayworth. hated those Minnie Mouse shoes, the way I kept twisting my ankles this way and that.

That Daisy Duck ribbon in my I demanded a chauffeur and a limo, laid bouffant hair pissed me off too. How down the law and took out tissues that could they expect me to drive a tank filled out my bra, tossing them out of the in that get-up? window where they fluttered like little pink ghosts in the breeze of Route 66.

There were live babies everywhere— Where the turnips tasted like bacon. I I dreamed I ran an orphanage in used to get this brute craving for potato Elizabeth, New Jersey, where the chips, salt and vinegar—I’d keep a bag of turnpike smelled like pig farms and them on my nightstand, the sea outside oil refineries. my seaside cottage churning.