Making lesbians happy – one book at a time!

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Laughter Is The Best Medicine

Need a good laugh? You can find it here!

kiss tell cover

From the award-winning authors who brought you More Than a Kiss and Crazy Little Thing!When Willy and Allistair meet, it is hate at first sight. The last thing they want is to witness a Mafia murder and be put into the Witness Protection Program together. Join Willy and Allistair as they go on the run from the mob and are forced to hide in a convent, a Wild West ghost town, and a nudist colony. In the end, they discover that sometimes love is found where you least expect it.

Available at Amazon for only $4.99!

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Where Do The Socks Go?

“Why are all your socks spread out over the bed?” Layce said.

“What? I can’t hear you,” I said.

“Take your head out of the washer that might help. Why are you in the washer anyway?”

“I’m looking for socks,” I said. I put the flash light back in my mouth and resumed my search.

“Why? You have plenty of socks,” Layce said. She was now peering into the depths of the washer with me.

I removed the flash light from between my teeth and pulled my head out of the washer. “I know. I have 106 complete pairs of socks. I also have 52 single socks that used to be pairs but somehow, somewhere, their partners have gone AWOL. That means that I lose on average one sock a week every year. I want to know where they go.”

socks

“And you think there’s a trap door in the washer where sock gnomes pop up once a week and steal a sock taking their precious back to the King of the Sock Gnomes to offer tribute,” Layce said, doing a good impersonation of Gollum.

“Well that’s one hypothesis. And since our garden gnomes went missing last Halloween they may have joined the sock gnomes of their own volition or they have been forced and now they suffer Stockholm Syndrome and are willingly stealing our socks because we are the bloated bourgeois of socks and need to be taught a lesson.”

Emma came in the laundry room.

“What did you find out?” I asked her.

“The only thing was a post that said the washer repair man thought it was possible the socks get under the agitator.”

“I don’t think 52 socks would fit.” I looked at Layce. “Can we remove the agitator and check?”

“No, we cannot.”

“How about this, there’s a black hole under everyone’s washer that leads to another Universe where aliens wear all the mismatched socks,” Emma said.

sock

I looked at Emma. “That’s not bad. But why do they want mismatched socks? Why not take a matching set? Is it a fashion statement? Do they think we won’t miss the missing sock? Are they using it as a test of will to see if we will fight for our missing socks? Are they operating on the assumption that if we just accept the sock thing that taking over our planet will be a breeze? And why are so few people interested in this dilemma? I mean if you walked outside and your car was missing one tire wouldn’t you be more invested?”

“I think most people have more important things to think about than where their socks go,” Layce said, as she shut the lid on the washer. I guess that settled the taking the washer apart option.

“That’s how society begins to unravel. It starts with little things,” I said. I peeked behind the dryer.

Emma asked, “Mom, have you seen my Duomo hat?”

I raised my eyebrows and pointed a finger at Layce. “See! It’s starting already. First socks…then hats, then cars, then bank accounts. Who knows where it will end.”

joke

Making the world a happier place—one book at a time.

Available Feb. 5th!

kiss tell cover

Squirrel in a Box

I had assumed the position of classic mediation sitting legs crossed. I couldn’t decide if the right foot should be over the left foot or the other way around. I tried both ways and decided that since the right side of my body always got to do everything that I should put left over right. It seemed more eastern to honor the weaker side in hopes of giving it confidence.

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I did the inverted “okay” sign with my forefinger and thumb. I never did understand the significance of that. Perhaps that would be the first thing revealed during my enlightenment. I sat quietly. I thought about how well I was doing with my New Year’s goal-setting. This was day three of ten minutes of meditation.
Hold on! I was supposed to turn my mind off and think of nothing—absolutely nothing. I concentrated on my breathing. In out, in out, in out. I wonder what interesting things are on Pinterest today.
Hold on! I concentrated on putting an invisible screen up blocking off my brain. In out, in out. My brain threw a tantrum. She kicked her feet and pounded the floor.

tantrum

“I really can’t concentrate when you’re doing that,” I told her.
I thought of the ocean, the Oregon coast specifically because I liked it there. Waves in and out, in out. I would like to go there again.
“Be quiet,” I told my brain. In out, in out. I’d like to go back and visit with my cousins and maybe go crabbing.
Hold on! Breathe in an out. I put my brain behind an invisible door. She pulled on the door handle, putting her feet on the door and pulling like in those cartoons when a character tries to get a door open.
“Just stop it!” I said.
She sat down and wept.
“Stop that! Really you can’t give me ten minutes of peace?”
She rushed the door and crashed through. I needed to concentrate to keep the invisible door with the invisible wall up and my brain had distracted me with her weeping.
She dashed at me, grabbed my knees and threw me to the ground like we were wrestling. That reminded me of The World According to Garp. He was a wrestler. My brain and I scrambled until I had her pinned to the floor.
“Stop it! I’m supposed to be meditating not engaging in violence. I’m sure that’s not how you’re supposed to be tapping into the good vibe of the universe, seeking enlightenment and serenity.”
We were both worn out. We lay on our backs. “Maybe we could practice the Corpse Pose?” my brain said. “I mean yoga is a close relation to meditation.”
I sighed. “I have a headache.”
“Let’s go have a cookie. That always makes you feel better. We have those sugar cookies we made last night,” my brain said.
“I can’t believe those cookie cutter goats ended up looking more like sheep,” I said.

goat

“Well, if you would have followed the directions and put less butter so the dough was stiffer it might have turned out better,” my brain said.
“Well, if you were staying in the ‘now’ of the moment and concentrated on paying attention that wouldn’t have happened. You were too busy thinking of Downton Abbey and why the Earl put all his money into Canadian railway stocks and then lost it. Everyone knows you should diversify,” I retorted.       “I thought I had it under control,” my brain said, evidently chastised. “Are we done meditating for today? I’m bored. Besides there’s always tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be better.”
“Promise?” I said.
“Sure, well, maybe, there’s always aspiration. I wonder what the world would be like if there were no North America? We should check that What If? book. Maybe it’s in there.”
“Oh my God, you’re terrible. I’m never going to learn to meditate.”
“Whatever. Let’s get a cookie.”

Coming in February!

kiss tell cover

The Joy Luck Plant

I stared at the joy luck plant and pondered, ruminated, and feared my options. I bit my lip. There were several yellowing leaves on the plant. It had grown tall since Emma brought it home from the Tulsa State Fair. She’d given off caring for it so I felt obligated to assume stewardship. You didn’t purchase a joy luck plant on a whim. It was a serious responsibility.

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“What are you doing?” Layce asked me.

“We’ve got a major decision to make,” I said, pinching off a yellow leaf.

“And that would be?”

“The spiritual nature and inevitable demise of this plant. We’ve had it every since I came to live with you all. It’s like our family mascot, our floral equivalent of a lucky rabbit’s foot, the Feng Shui of our house. I don’t know how long I can handle the responsibility. What if it dies? What should one do? Will we be cursed?”

“It’s just a plant,” Layce said. “Plants die…” she noticed my distress, “Eventually.”

“Curses can be quite serious. Remember Pele and the black sand? People have brought sand back and had horrible luck. They sent it back once they realized what was causing the bad luck and they profusely apologized to Pele.”
pele
Layce considered this. “We could give it a proper burial when the time comes.”

“I hope you realize this is as serious as getting a chain letter,” I continued.

“What if we get the joy luck plant a friend?”

“We might be able to take this shoot and give it eternal life.”

“That could work,” Layce said.

I noticed she was staring at the plant intently now. “But what if that doesn’t work?” I said, squinting at the plant as if narrowing my eyes might make less of a dilemma.

“I say we get two more bamboos and that’ll make three—your favorite lucky number upon which you manage most of your life.”

I disregarded her statement. I didn’t think three was going to solve anything. “I wonder what other people have done if they killed a joy plant by lack of care?”

“Where are you going?” Layce asked as I picked up the car keys.

“To get twenty-one plants.”

“Twenty-one?”

“I looked it up.  21 joy luck plants are like a super charged blessing. It should offset things. And then I’m going to burn some sage and hire a holy man. That should do it.”

Layce sighed. “Do we really want to get into joy luck farming?”

“Yes, if it means keeping our house from being cursed.” I heard heavy sighing and something that sounded like “Ugh” as I exited the house. Maybe I would pick up a lucky rabbit’s foot while I was at it.

 

Making the world a happier place, one book at a time!

CLT new cover(1)

Scents and Sensibility

Emma lost her glasses under suspicious circumstances in a hay maze. She’d been hinting around about wanting new glasses and low and behold hers went missing. She apparently was well-versed in the “trying to find a needle in a haystack” only she went one better—a labyrinth of hay.
hay maze
She attempted to negotiate her loss via text message.

Emma: Are you mad?

Layce: No, I’m ecstatic.

Emma: What’s my punishment?

Layce: We’ll talk about it when you get home. It won’t be pretty.

Emma arrived home, having discovered she didn’t have a passport so she couldn’t defect to a Slavic country with no extradition policy. She brought her chaperone up to the door in a blatant attempt to diffuse the parental bomb. Tick, tick, tick.

While Chaperone Lady (her name is being withheld in order to protect the innocent) and Layce discussed the logistics of the lost eyewear, Honey Bear darted out the open front door.

She’d spotted a skunk across the street and now had it cornered. I ran after her thinking she might have a cat. It looked like a cat but I didn’t have my glasses on so I went in blind. Honey Bear took a direct spray to the face and backed away, yelping. I grabbed her collar so I could safely get her across the street. I was now soaked in skunk juice as well.
skunk
Layce and Chaperone Lady backed away from both of us.

“Don’t let her in the house! Or you!” Layce said.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Take her out back and take off your clothes,” Layce said.

“Really, I don’t think now is a good time to get amorous.”

“I should be going,” Chaperone Lady said as she lept in her SUV.

That night, Honey Bear had three baths and stayed outside. I had two showers and Layce had one. We laid in bed.

“I still smell skunk,” Layce said.

I sniffed her. “Did you wash your hair?”

“No,” she said, getting out of bed. She took another shower and got back in bed. “Better now?”

“I think it’s in the sheets.”

We washed the sheets and went back to bed.

In the morning a contrite Emma inquired about her punishment.

“You’re grounded until you’re eighteen,” I said.

Her eyes went big as saucers.

“Just kidding,” I said.

“You’re grounded for a month and you might get your allowance back around June. Or maybe not,” Layce said. She wasn’t kidding.

“And you have to wash Honey Bear a lot,” I added, “And spend quality time with her since she’s banned from the house until she smells better.

“But she stinks,” Emma said.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I said, handing her a bucket and soap.

Making the world a happier place, one book at a time!

CLT new cover(1)

The Splooge Effect

It was one of those mornings.  My inner Luddite had become a Tasmanian devil.  I glared at my computer screen.  I sighed.  I swore.  I let out a definite splooge.  I couldn’t help it.

“You’re doing again,” Layce said.

th

“Doing what?” I asked, trying to hide the splooge.

“You’ve been splooging ever since your Dad’s email didn’t go through,” Layce said.  “Give me your computer.”th

“I’m not splooging at you. I’m splooging at the Universe at large and technology in particular,” I said, handing over my laptop to see if she could sort it out.

“Well, some of the splooge splattered on me.  Did you send your dad’s email to the correct address?” Layce inquired.

th

“Yes and no.” I replied.

“What does that mean?  It’s either one or the other.”

“It means I sent it to the address on my contact list but it came back.  What I am attempting to do now is keep the email and see if I can find out the correct address otherwise I just wasted my time even bothering to write it.”

“I don’t understand Yahoo mail,” Layce said, scowling. She handed my laptop back.

“What do you use, Google?” I asked.

“No, I use Outlook Express through our internet provider,” Layce said.

“Don’t even get me started on Outlook Express,” I said. I pulled up Facebook and sent a private message to Lorene (my sister-in-law extraordinaire—she sorts out all the Bennett muddles.)

“Wanna listen to the email I just wrote Lorene?”

“Sure.”

“Dear Lorene, the new baby is adorable. I hope work is going well. WTF is wrong with my dad’s email? My email keeps getting returned. WTF has he done to his computer this time? Have a nice day. Hugs.”

“Nice,” Layce said.

Next, I tried to share a photo on Pinterest. “Ah! I can’t even download a stupid picture on Pinterest.” I’m trying not to look like I’m splooging.

th

“Step away from the computer,” Layce ordered.

I didn’t listen to her and succeeded in downloading two of the same photo on Pinterest.  Okay, well that was better than nothing, I thought.  I glanced over at Layce who appeared to be having her own computer issues.  She sighed.  She swore.

“What the hell? I can’t get the new book cover to come up,” Layce said.  “It’s lost somewhere in the ether and that is not where I wanted it.”

“I think you’re splooging on me.”

“No, I’m splooging at the internet,” Layce said.

“Well, I think I have a piece of splooge right here. Yes, this is definitely some splooge right here on my shoulder.”

paint-splatter-paintball-ranpict_886937

Making the world a happier place, one book at a time!

MTAK final cover_edited-2

Haven’t read this book yet? It’s not to late!

You can buy or borrow here!

My Wife’s Panties

“What the hell is that?” Layce asked. We were standing in the produce aisle at the grocery store. I was picking out apples.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, focusing on the bag of apples to vet the squishy ones.

She pointed at my neckline. I put the bag of apples down and felt where she was pointing. “WTF,” I said.
I pulled on an errant piece of fabric. I felt like a magician pulling a scarf out of his sleeve, but in this case it wasn’t a scarf. It was a pair of panties. I had been wearing a pair of panties around my neck! My wife’s panties to be exact.

I held the panties out in front of me. The produce guy smirked.

Layce gawped. “Are those what I think they are?”

“Fucking static cling! I can’t believe you let me go out like this! We’re married. You’re supposed to check me out before we leave the house. It’s one of your conjugal duties,” I hissed. I was holding the panties, well, waving them around, gesticulating wildly.
People were staring. I came to my senses and stuffed them in my pocket. “They’re not even mine! What were your panties doing in my shirt?” I asked.

Layce laughed.

“I’ve been wandering around the store, thinking wow, I must have picked out a nice outfit today because people sure are checking me out—probably thinking, you know, for someone approaching her senior citizen discount days, she looks damn good. But no, they’re staring because I’m wearing a pair of panties as a scarf.”

“Maybe they thought you were wardrobe challenged and didn’t know the difference,” she sputtered between giggles.A full-blown fit of laughter was just around the corner. I could feel it like how barometric pressure drops right before a storm.

“Or maybe they think you’re a fashionista and panties are the new infinity scarf,” she said, tears forming in her eyes.

“Or maybe I just invented the first traveling panties. I could do an infomercial: Ever find yourself in need of an extra pair of panties—this amazing pair of panties”—I whipped them out of my pocket for effect— “Can go anywhere and be anything. Look, it’s a hat, tilt it slightly and you look French.” I put the panties on my head. “Or you’re out eating lobster and you need a bib. Here it is.” I tucked the panties in my neckline. “Ever find yourself in need of a fanny pack? Just stick this amazing piece of modern engineering through your belt loops and you’ve got yourself a fanny pack. Or how about flagging for help when your car breaks down?” I waved the panties in the air.

A crowd had gathered. People were staring. Layce was gasping and bent over. “I think I just tinkled in my panties,” she said.

“Not a problem.  I’ve got a spare pair.”

Making the world a happier place, one book at a time!

CLT new cover(1)

Buy or borrow on Amazon!

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