Love, Lose, And Repeat

Boobage

When I got divorced, I got a boob job. I gained two pounds for the two-hundred and fifty pound sack of nothing I slung out of my life. My plastic surgeon said he had never done better work and I could tell those double D's were worth my daughter's college fund--although, she didn't think so. I was getting the looks again that I hadn't got for twenty years.
"Mom, it just doesn't look natural." That's what Fran told me. Her brother said his friends can't come over because they get too excited to see me, like unneutered dogs. That doesn't stop me from wearing the extra low lingerie around the house when I know Neil is coming to pick up the kids. I have to let him know what he is missing out on, what he could have had if he wasn't fifty-five and balding, with a hard-on for any woman under thirty.
The kids gave me looks and laughed. They hit each other's shoulders and whispered things about me. Twins and turning fifteen and if I could have given Neil full custody, I would have been on a plane to Vegas with lines of quarters in my bag and two star-shaped pasties. But I have to keep those kids, at least until I can throw them out at eighteen or maybe keep them if their teenage bitterness wears off.
Neil's red convertible came up the drive, blaring death metal.
"Your father's midlife crisis has come to pick you up." I said parting the curtains with two French tip acrylic nails. "If I would have known Irene was picking the two of you up I wouldn't have worn this."
"It's fine mom, she won't come in." Fran said finishing her cereal, standing.
"Are the two of you packed?" I ask giving Raymond a half-hug as he drink the last of his orange juice. They nodded and I heard the doorbell.
"I'll get it, mom." Fran tried to cut me off to get to the door.
"Get your things from upstairs." I said in the tone I reserved for when I really insisted on something. It was soft and quiet and she knew if she said one word back it would shift to rigid letters and punishments, promising to take something away if she didn't do as I say.

"I'm sorry, I already bought my Girl Scout cookies this year." I said when I opened the door. The woman on the other side was tall and lean in a red dress to match the red car and with long flowing black hair. Her completion was dark and she spoke with a slight Spanish accent.
"I'm not here to sell anything." She said while the wind blew her hair behind her. She was straight out of a makeup add or a strip club. If that was my husband's way of getting over me, she would never be me, and she looked a lot the before model from my plastic surgeon's brochure.
"I think I have seen you before."
"I am here to pick up Fran and Ray--I'm Neil's--"
"I know where I have seen you. It was on a short film I turned off Raymond's computer." I leaned in and whispered to her, "I had to install child blocks, you know how kids are."
"Oh, no. I'm just Neil's girlfriend. He was called into work."
"I'm sorry! I am so embarrassed." I said. Irene laughed a little and started to sweat. "Iris, right? Come in for a cup of coffee."
"No, I shouldn't."
"Oh, you're dieting. Good for you." I patted her shoulder and nodded. The kids came thundering down the stairs and waved to the woman. I was starring at her b-cup breasts. Both the kids hugged her quickly and ran to the convertible, pushing each other for who got the front seat.
"It was good to see you, Iris." And I slammed the door. No kids, no Neil, just me. I sat in a corner of the living room and parted to curtains to watch them drive off. She had B-cups now, but we are all born with b-cups until we get divorced and decide we would feel better about ourselves with a bit more cleavage to show, but that is only so we don't have to show our nasty, half-broken, half-mended hearts--tred on by red convertible tires and scabs in red dresses.