Sharon Newell. Sharon Newell, Sharon Newell. Sharon Newell. I could not write it enough if I tried! I feel as if I have been over the moon for 3 weeks straight! Cloud 9! We've just cut out of the Mansfield Hotel on 44th and are wailing towards daddy's house. James' daddy let us borrow his hopped up, rag top, 1950 Buick Roadmaster. What a classy chassis! He burns rubber every time we get a green light, owing to the big tickle he gets out of me. I run my fingers through James' flat-top, hoping there's no heat around and kiss his cheek.
I'm cranked to start our new life, but am drowning as to how to be a true and good housewife. I think James will still love me if I goof for a while, but he will sure be frosted if I turn out to be a dud. I'll have to be on the stick all the time. He's got the jets to go places in Mansfield, I'm sure he'll kill it. Anyhow, I'll clue you in on some word from the bird; Daddy is gonna want some ankle-biters here soon and if we keep playing back seat bingo, he is going to get his wish.
YOU ARE READING
A Woman's Path to Liberation
Chick-LitPlaced #410 in Chicklit This story is a fictional, but historically accurate story told through the eyes of a woman who finds feminism. I researched all of the geography, created elaborate backstories for each of the characters, looked at time perio...
