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Postcards From Mom

Every once in a blue moon, I receive a postcard from my mom. Once I got two in one week, but more often, a year or two will go by before I spot the familiar bedraggled rectangle tucked in the day's mail.

The current missive arrived, as always, crumpled and tattered, flecked with makeup debris and ink spots from sliding around in the bottom of her enormous handbag. Ah, the enormous handbag. My mother always carried a cheap imitation designer monstrosity, the bigger, the better. All the better to shoplift with.

Though postcards are almost literally a dime a dozen in Florida, I have not a doubt in my mind that she stole them. I can see her now, idly flipping through the postcards on the flimsy revolving wire racks with one hand while stuffing her purse with the other.

The postcards all revolve around the following images: wide mouthed alligators, stately palm trees, white sand beaches, and tanned female butts in thongs. All printed with variations on the boast that "I'm sunning my buns in Florida while you're freezing your ass off up North."

This year's installment featured an unsuspecting beach bunny, bending over provocatively with the aforementioned thong on full display, about to get her ass chewed off by aforementioned alligator.

As always, on the coffee and God knows what else stained back of the postcard, were four words, penned laboriously in my mothers fat, childish scrawl. "Wish you were here."

And as always, I wish to be anywhere but there.

Story by:

Amy Rogers

amyrogers25@yahoo.com

submitted at 3:12am

23 March 2012