By Erica Orloff
I am Lily, a brand new York newspaper columnist, mom of 2, divorcee of 1 and associate in crime to Michael, English professor, novelist and ally extraordinaire. we now have been neighbors eternally -- good, seeing that I approximately burned down our house development whereas attempting to cook dinner. Michael and i've weathered disco, undesirable model, undesirable perms, undesirable boyfriends -- for either one of us -- my failed marriage, parenthood and writer's block. Laughter has helped -- and so have the martinis. yet now we are facing our largest problem: the C observe. And if i've got my approach, Michael may be giving up his freewheeling bachelor methods and settling down as soon as and for all. simply because i've got a few very particular needs for who should still take over parental responsibility whilst i am long gone. after all, I refuse to take this mendacity down -- even if the medical professionals inform me to lie down and close up. simply because even though i am ill, i am decided to put on my excessive heels and lipstick. i am gonna glance solid or die making an attempt, dammit.
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Extra resources for Do They Wear High Heels In Heaven?
Screw Atkins. ” “I did. ” “See you in a few. Shower. Put on your makeup. ” I hung up the phone. I knew why Michael was driving over. It was the same reason he always spent my birthday with me. Because left on my own to ponder gray hair and another year, I’d wallow in self-pity for days. As I showered, I thought about why. When I was younger, it was the concept of milestones. ” And with each passing year, I felt something else slip away. Now, at forty-pretending-to-be-thirty-five, I knew that this birthday, in particular, meant the end of sex.
She put her hands on her hips. “What? Honey, I don’t even know you. ” She looked at me, and then her nose crinkled up, the way I’ve since learned it always does when she’s going to laugh. She plopped down in the other kitchen chair, and we both cracked up. The more she laughed, the more I did, until we were both holding our sides, tears rolling down our faces from smoke and laughter. Her date never showed up, and she opened the wine she had bought for him—a cheap cabernet from the grocery store…with chicken!
She nervously looked down the hall, her eyes shifting from her apartment door to me. Back and forth. ” She grabbed my hand and half-pulled me down the hall, where I could now, despite my cold, smell something burning. Walking into her apartment was like walking into a five-alarm blaze. Smoke hugged the ceilings. We made our way to the tiny kitchen, where I opened a window. My eyes were tearing; my throat felt like it was closing on me. ” “A chicken. ” I pulled out a bird that had shriveled to a carcass.