Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

Archive for the category “miscellaneous”

What’s in a name?

Actually, quite a bit, if we’re talking about choices for scene/kink monikers. What prompted this? This week, I saw two of them that were such a turn-off, I wouldn’t even bother checking out the person behind them.

I’ve said before that I keep my profiles on the various kink sites, because I never know who’s out there and it never hurts to know more locals. I have many friends with whom I share TTWD, but so many of them are far away. One of said sites will sometimes email a notice to me if their algorithm somehow concludes that a potential match is brewing. So this week, I received this:

“Hey, Erica Scott! Have you met DrSausage? He’s ready to meet you!”

spraying coffee all over the screen  Dr. Sausage??? How does one get a doctorate in sausageology? Does the PhD stand for Perky Hard Dick?

When I tweeted about this, one of my friends cleverly replied, “But… he’s a doctor!” Which made me laugh. Suddenly, I was taken back over 30 years and remembering my mother, who had a dreadful habit of trying to fix me up. She’d attempted it many times, but her most egregious effort came one day when she called me and said I was going to be mad. I listened, feeling my blood pressure spike into emergency levels, while she told me about how she’d been at the beauty parlor that day and had struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to her at the dryers. Turns out said woman had a single son. All my mother needed to hear was “single,” “Jewish,” and “doctor” — she didn’t even need a photo or any further description.

That’s right. She gave my phone number to this woman, who she’d known for about ten minutes. To give to her son, who she didn’t know at all.

I exploded. “How could you DO that?? You don’t know this woman! You don’t know her son! You don’t know anything about him — and you give my phone number to perfect strangers? And what kind of a man needs his mother to fix him up with unseen women?”

Her defense? “She seemed nice. And how bad could he be — he’s a doctor!”

Oy vey.

Yes, the guy called me, and I met him for coffee. Turned out he was cute, charming, funny and sexy, and we dated for a few years. And if you believe that, please allow me to sell you some magic beans.

Part of me was tempted to write to DrSausage and say, “Here I am, oh meaty one! Come and do your wurst!” But I decided against it.

And then, same week, I get, “Erica Scott, someone just checked you out!” I looked to see who it was.

GrannyLover.

Just shoot me now. No, wait. Shoot HIM. Yeah, I get it. He likes older women. But there needs to be a little finesse here.

News flash, pal. I don’t usually presume to speak for all women, but I’m making an exception here. There isn’t a woman on this entire f&#%ing planet who would find it a compliment, within a sexual and/or kink realm, to be referred to as “Granny.” “Mommy,” yes. I can certainly see that, even though it’s not my thing. But “Granny”? NO. What’s she going to do, bake you cookies until you beg for mercy? Knit you some ankle restraints?

I wanted to write to GrannyLover and attach a charming picture I found of a prim and proper white-haired grandma flipping the bird. But I decided against that as well.

Just another week in the life of a spanko. Have a great weekend, y’all.

OT: Car problems, eye woes, and makeovers

Sorry I’ve been MIA, everyone, but it’s been a strange, hectic week with nothing fun, kink-wise, to post. So please bear with me while I give an off-topic ramble of an update.

In the “only you, Erica” file, we have last Saturday night. I was at John’s, and we were walking in the town square. There are always plenty of people out with their dogs, and I love dogs. So I have made a habit of stopping and petting them whenever it’s feasible. (I always ask the owner first.) I seem to have a knack with dogs, as they’re usually responsive to me. Anyway, we saw a young woman with a bull terrier (I don’t know if you can picture one; they are not really large dogs, but they have distinctively shaped large heads). I crouched down and began petting him, and he hunkered down on the sidewalk, wagging his tail furiously. After a bit, I stopped and started to get back up, and I guess he got excited, not wanting the petting to stop. So, as I was bent over him, he suddenly and very quickly lunged upward… and the top of his head slammed into my left eye.

The dog was fine. I, however. was seeing stars. I had my glasses on; I don’t know if that helped absorb the blow or made it worse. At least they didn’t break, thank goodness. My eye didn’t swell or turn red or anything, it just hurt. I figured it would be OK. The owner was very apologetic, BTW.

But the next day, I wasn’t OK. I could see, but I had floaters and flashers in my left eye like I’ve never had before. It looked like clumps of dust were swirling around in my vision, moving in every direction I looked. So that night, I called my HMO’s after-hours number, spoke to an advice nurse, and he said I should try to get in to see an eye doctor the next day (Monday). Easier said than done with my HMO, of course, but after long waits and two call-backs, I had an appointment at 2:00.

Good news… I do not have a detached retina, which requires laser surgery and can lead to blindness if not attended. I do have what is officially known as vitreous detachment — which, in laymen’s terms, is floaters. A big new crop of them, due to this trauma. The doc dilated my eyes and performed several tests; said my retina was fine. There’s nothing that can be done about floaters; they come with age anyway, but this blow really exacerbated the situation. He told me one of two things will happen: this latest batch will fade away in time (could be three to six months), or I’ll get used to them. (sigh)

“Oh, and your vision will be blurry and you’ll be sensitive to light for the next four-five hours,” he added. “How am I supposed to drive home?” I blurted. He said I could if I had sunglasses, which I did. I was supposed to drop my car off to the shop, which was just a couple of blocks away from the hospital, to get a smog certificate for renewing my registration. But, in my distracted state, I forgot the damn DMV document I was supposed to bring… so, with badly impaired vision, I had to drive all the way home and then all the way back to the mechanic. Not my day.

It got better. After I got home — unable to do any work because I couldn’t see — my mechanic called me. Long story short, I went in just to get a freaking smog check and oil change, and it turned out I’m due for a bunch of other maintenance services. Oh, and my right side view mirror holder is broken, and the entire contraption is hanging by a wire. (I knew that; I just kept shoving it back in place.) He can get a replacement from the dealer, but it will be black, not silver, so he’d have to take it to the body shop and get them to match the paint, which would make it cost a lot more. Or… I could get TWO new mirrors, both in black, so they’ll match. Fine. Whatever. Order the fucking things and just fix it.

Steve couldn’t come by Tuesday, and I had no car, so that gave me a full day at home to catch up on work, considering I’d lost so much time on Monday. Got my car at 8:00 that evening; it cost me $1060. Oh well. It’s only money, right?

Onto Wednesday. I needed a break. My workload wasn’t huge, and Alex and SC and I had planned to go to Sephora to get makeovers. (Sephora is a well-known beauty shop with copious skin products, and they are famous for their mini-makeovers. They’re also famous for their high prices. But the makeovers are $50 — if you don’t buy anything — and I had my $50 gift card from Steve, so I figured I’d go for it.) Mind you, I am incredibly unsophisticated when it comes to makeup. I use drug store products. I hate foundation. I never use eye shadow, and I’ve never even tried brow pencil. So I figured I’d learn some new tricks, if nothing else, and would look really smashing for a couple of hours!

So we met at the mall, had lunch, and then headed to Sephora — SC and I had our appointments at 1:00, and then Alex at 2:00. It was a fun process, sitting and having the technician fuss over our faces, transforming them. They ask you what you’d like to focus on, what your preferences are, etc. I said I wanted a polished look overall on my skin, without caking on foundation, and I wanted to see what really done up eyes would look like. Oh, and cover-up for my under-eye bags/circles. Products, products, products — I don’t think I’ve ever had so much makeup on my face. Contouring, priming, shadowing, highlighting. But the finished look was… wow. I looked like me, and yet not. I kept trying to get a decent selfie, and even SC tried to get a couple of shots for me, but I didn’t like any of them. So, I kept the one I found the least objectionable. Ready? Look at Ms. Glamour…

20161012_142101

SC and Alex looked stunning, of course. We took a shot of the three of us, but I’d have to block out SC’s gorgeous face, so there’s no point in posting it.

So… here’s where they get ya. You see these results, and you’re hypnotized. Oooh! I want this! and this! and this! I bought only a quarter of the stuff she used on me… and still spent about $140. (Only $90, deducting Steve’s gift card. They don’t charge you for the makeover if you buy $50 or more of products.) And you know what? There’s no way I’m going to be able to reproduce this on my own. But… I guess it won’t kill me to have some decent products. Although I must confess, she did a lousy job on the under-eye concealer. She put a ton of it on… and later that afternoon, I glanced in a mirror and was disconcerted to see that it had settled and caked into my wrinkles, emphasizing them like a beacon. Ack! There has to be a concealer out there that doesn’t do that!

The three of us shopped around for the rest of the afternoon — SC had also brought replacements for the corset she’d bought that was too big for me. They didn’t have the same one in my size, so she actually bought two others and brought them for me to choose! So we had a fashion show in the mall restroom. 🙂 They were both gorgeous, but one fit a bit better than the other.

Got home around six, and got a few hours of work done. I had planned to go to the gym after our expedition, but I was too wiped out.

Funny side note: when it came time to take the makeup off, I went through two Neutrogena makeup remover cloths and one Eye-Q makeup remover pad, and scrubbed my face in the shower with soap and water, and yet when I was drying off, I still had raccoon rings under my eyes, so I used another Eye-Q pad on them. The next morning, I used some toner on a cotton ball and swiped it over my face… and it came up completely saturated with brown. For God’s sake — how do women who wear this s#$% all the time get their skin clean??

Anyway. My car is well. My bank account is depleted. My eye is driving me nuts; it definitely makes my work a bit more challenging, seeing crud float in front of my eye while I’m staring at the computer. So I take breaks often. This too shall pass, I hope. Who else do you know who has been head-butted by a dog??

Have a great weekend, y’all.

And so it goes

She lives.

Been a rough patch, certainly. Sunday night I got email from my stepmother. We don’t keep in regular contact, as we’re both reclusive, so I hadn’t talked to her for a while. Imagine how I felt when she told me she’d nearly died. Apparently, she’d been feeling sick and nauseated with stomach pain for a couple of months, and her doctor was treating her for what he thought was an ulcer. Things worsened until she ended up in the ER, and an MRI showed she had gallstones that had migrated to several places, occluding a duct to her bladder and causing a widespread infection. So… surgery to remove the gall bladder, find all the stones and get rid of them as well, and put a stent in her bladder duct.

Six to eight weeks recovery, with a lot of pain and nausea. And then she gets to have surgery again to remove the stent, with another long recovery. She’s 85 years old, kids. She’s already dealing with a host of physical problems, including various food sensitivities and chronic sciatica. To quote her: “This sucks!” And how much can a body take before it gives out?

She was writing to me to apologize that we won’t be able to go out for my (upcoming) birthday lunch. I told her to please not worry about that. I wish I could do something for her, but I know how fiercely independent she is. She doesn’t want to be fussed over.

So, Monday and yesterday were raw. Monday, I had a chiropractor appointment… I’ve been a mess of tension and aches. I wasn’t my usual feisty self on the table; I didn’t gripe about the painful stuff he was doing, I got into the positions he asked, I was very passive. His comment? “You’re very compliant today. What’s wrong with you?” How well he knows me already.

Yesterday, Steve came over. We did not play; I was too despondent. All I did was crawl into his arms and cry on his shirt.

But the fog has to lift eventually. Life and work go on. Fake it till you make it and all that new age-y sh*t. I’ve worked. I’ve worked out. And I figured I’d make some attempt to post something here, so everyone wouldn’t think I’d disappeared into the ether.

So pardon me if this is disjointed; it’s simply a collection of random thoughts.

Yesterday I was playing Scrabble online, and this screen appeared. I swear, I did not create this, I didn’t rearrange any letters; it happened randomly. It made me giggle.

scrabble

I remembered another snippet from the party. After my lengthy scene with Ulf, during aftercare, I impulsively said, “Let me see your hand.” I just had a feeling… he turned up his palm. Sure enough, I’d thoroughly assed his hand — a blood blister and several red streaks. He was incredulous; said he hadn’t been aware of it at all.

Looks like this granny has still got it, huh?

Another random tidbit — I haven’t cut my hair in months. Usually, I get it cut and colored every six to eight weeks, but the last two times I got color, I didn’t cut it. It is the longest it’s been in years. John loves it, Steve loves it. I have mixed feelings about it.

I have never had sleek, sophisticated, polished hair. It’s just not me, and I wouldn’t even know how to style it that way. Once my hairdresser gave me a sleek blowout, and it felt so foreign and “not me” that I couldn’t wait to wash it out. I don’t put it up, because I hate my ears and don’t show them. So, for better or worse, my hair is big and wild. On the one hand, having it past my shoulders and down my back feels very sexy. But on the other, the ghost of my mother is in my head. “You’re too old for long hair.” “You need to style your hair somehow.” And, my favorite: “When are you going to do something about those rags hanging around your face?”

Tomorrow I’m getting my hair colored… I’m considering letting the cut go, again. Just to break away from the judgment of a “woman of a certain age” growing her hair long. I’m sorry, Mom… I love you, but STFU already. Get out of my head.

Took this selfie yesterday. What do you guys think? Grow it, or cut it back a bit?

20160913_155332

Finally… people tell me they like this blog because it’s real, because it’s honest. Well, in the spirit of honesty, I have a confession. I do photo-edit my pictures a little. Not a whole lot; I don’t know how to do anything fancy. I don’t have Photoshop, I just have a simple program with the basics. So I’ll erase bags under my eyes, or blur out those damned spots on my arms and legs. A little indulgence of my vanity.

But, you want real? Here is real. This is from yesterday. No photo-editing, no makeup, straight from the camera except for cropping and resizing. This is my depression face. It’s not pretty, but it’s me.

sadness

This is what Steve saw. He said I was beautiful. I think he’s crazy, but I love him for it.

Onward. There is work to be done. And this body won’t exercise itself, no matter how much I wish it would.

Hopefully some fun on-topic stuff soon. We’ll see.

What the…????

OK. This may seem off-topic, but it sorta is on topic. I am sharing the worst, the creepiest commercial ever. I have no idea what the creators were thinking, but because of my particular proclivities, I don’t find it amusing, just gross.

It’s for a new line of frozen foods. Some nerdy guy is on his lunch break, off by himself. He is so, er, enamored of his macaroni and cheese with bacon, he’s talking to it. Not just talking to it — he’s crooning to it, in a manner that suggests he wants to dig something else into it beside his eating utensil.

But wait… it gets worse. Take a look.

WTF? Say it with me, kids… EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

If this guy existed in real life, I’d say he should go ahead and have kinky sex with his lunch. Because there ain’t no real-life woman anywhere who would go near him.

Bleccch. And I thought reading about skin tears and pressure ulcers was cringe-worthy.

OK, let’s hear it. What do you guys think of this? Don’t worry if you like it. You’re still welcome here. 😀

Getting to know me/you

I’m in a pensive mood tonight, due to all the ugliness on the news lately. I saw one of those old-time memes where you answer questions about yourself, so I thought I’d distract myself with that. Of course, about half the questions in this meme I found were completely stupid, so I chose to delete them. So here goes. Feel free to copy the questions and put in your own answers on your blog, if you’d like.

9e0af-asked

1.  If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?
This changes often, but at this time, my answer would be President Barack Obama.

2. Do you sleep with or without clothes on?
If I’m alone, PJs, a nightie or a t-shirt. If not alone, then no clothes.

3. Ever had a poem or a song written about you?
I had a song parody written about me once. It was to the tune of The Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby” and it was called “Erica Rigby.” I don’t remember most of it, but I do recall that instead of the lyric “Father Mackenzie,” it was “John in a frenzy.” 🙂

4. Do you have any strange phobias?
Emetophobia — the fear of vomiting. I will do anything physically possible to keep from throwing up, and when I feel nausea, I get a panic attack.

5. Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?
No, I make sure that everything I put up my nose is domestic.

6. What’s your religion?
I don’t believe in religion.

7. If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?
Counting the minutes until I can come back inside.

8. When was the last time you played air guitar?
Last week on the treadmill, when one of my favorite songs with a great guitar solo came on my iPod.

9. How do you vent your anger?
Exercise, writing rant-y blog posts and tweets, having a bitchfest with friends.

10. Do you prefer to be in front of the camera or behind it?
Mmmmm… I do have a weakness for being in front of it. 🙂

11. Have you ever gone skinny dipping?
Yes.

12. What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?
My emotional nature; my intelligence.

13. Do you have a collection of anything?
Clown figurines and refrigerator magnets.

14. What is a sound you hate; sound you love?
Screaming babies and incessantly barking dogs; purring kitties and a top’s solemn voice.

15. Are you happy with the person you’ve become?
Yeah, I think so. I could be a whole lot worse.

16. What’s the worst place you’ve ever been to?
South-Central Los Angeles. That place terrifies me.

17. Favorite band?
The Beatles, always and forever.

18. Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?
I live in Los Angeles; of course I drive. I’ve had a few fender benders, and I’ve been hit a few times, but no major crashes.

19. What the last book you read?
Jillian Keenan’s Sex With Shakespeare. I need to blog my thoughts on that sometime soon.

20. What’s the last movie you saw?
An old cult classic on Turner Classic Movies, Wild In The Streets.

21. What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?
A really, really bad sprained ankle that took months to heal. I had to walk in a brace and have physical therapy. It was as bad as having a break.

22. What’s your sexual orientation?
Good ol’ boring heterosexual.

23. Ever had a rumor spread about you?
Yes. It hurt a lot and nearly drove me out of the spanking scene.

24. Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?
I admit that I do, sometimes. Especially if they never apologize for it and they did me a lot of emotional damage.

25. Do you save money or spend it?
I am a saver, for the most part.

26. What was the last thing you purchased?
Groceries.

27. How many relationships have you had?
Only one that matters. 🙂

28. Where were you yesterday?
Several places — John’s house, Starbucks, The Habit, a dim sum restaurant, a dog kennel where we walked John’s neighbor’s dog.

29. Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?
I have a pack of multi-colored Post-Its on my desk; some of them are pink.

30. What’s your favorite animal?
That would be a tie between dogs and cats.

31. What were you doing last night at 12:00 a.m.?
Watching TV at John’s, while he slept with his head in my lap. We’re old.

32. What do you think is Satan’s last name?
Trump.

33. What is the single best decision you’ve made in your life so far?
Hard to choose just one. My knee-jerk answer is deciding to embrace my kinky side.

34. What is a saying that you say a lot?
Not really a saying, but I exclaim, “Oh, for….” a lot. You know, “Oh, for god’s sake,” “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

35. What is your current desktop picture?
A stock waterfall photo that came with the computer.

36. Favorite color?
Red.

37. If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?
(sigh) Much as I’d like to think about it, I don’t believe I could actually do it. But I do have a few temptations.

38. You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?
My first adult spanking, just for the sheer joy and wonder of it.

39. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?
My brother’s death.

40. You have the opportunity to sleep with the music celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?
John Lennon — the young, cheeky, sexy version.

41. Have you ever thrown up in a car?
I did all the time, when I was a little kid. I got horribly carsick.

42. In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?
Acceptance, trust, listening, values and preferences in common, attraction to both the outside and the inside.

43. What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?
Roy Orbison’s “Oh, Pretty Woman.”

44. You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?
a. Yes… my loved ones have a right to know. b. Assuming that I get to live those days without feeling ill, see as many loved ones as possible, eat all the ice cream and chocolate and bread and peanut butter, play, say everything I want to say. c. No. I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid of a lingering life in pain and sickness. If I were ill, I’d want to go quickly.

45. Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?
Neither. I’d rather email or text, or talk to someone in person.

46. What is the meaning of life?
I will borrow my father’s words here: “An entrance, an exit, and a lot of bullshit in between.”

47. What would you want to be written on your tombstone?
“Couldn’t sing, couldn’t cook, had a nice ass.”

48. Do you have any nicknames?
I used to be called “Bionic Bottom” in the spanking scene. John has a lot of goofy pet names for me, including “bunny.” 🙂

49. Do you have any obsessions right now?
I guess I’ve had to say that I’m always obsessed with spanking and everything about it. But I don’t consider that a bad thing.

50. If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?
I suppose this is where I’m supposed to say something inspirational, spread the love, be kind, etc. But I’m just not the namaste-ish type. So, given the state of the things of late, the never-ending senseless violence and death, here’s what I’d like to shout from the hilltops and be heard around the world:

stopkilling

And on that note: My friends, I love you. ♥

Wednesday musings

My mind is off in a dozen directions today, so this blog may be a bit disjointed. I will attempt to weed out the blather and put down some coherent thoughts.

First, I read something just this morning (a quote from a book) that kind of irked me. I am not going to name the book or the author, because I don’t wish to appear that I’m going on a personal attack here. It’s the idea behind what I read that bothers me, not the book itself or its author.

The book is for women, and the subject is how to deal with a husband or boyfriend who has a sexual fetish. I haven’t read it; I just saw some excerpts, but even in those, the message I got was clear: it’s our responsibility to embrace these fetishes and fulfill the desires, if we love our men.

Here is a paragraph that particularly bothered me:

You have a choice: your husband or boyfriend can either be alone with his sexual fetish or you can learn to be the one who fulfills his every sexual need. Choose to reject and you will have a husband or boyfriend who will be secretive and stray. Choose to join in and you’ll have a husband or boyfriend who will be loyal and appreciative.

Is it just me, or is this overly black-and-white? A one-size-fits-all statement? I know from personal experience that this isn’t necessarily true for all. But what about the hundreds of women out there who will read this and feel like they have to do something that they don’t understand/mildly dislike/hate/etc. in order to please their man?

There are a gazillion fetishes out there, and some are more easily fulfilled than others. The author, with this statement, is completely bypassing the third alternative: let your man get his fetish needs met elsewhere, with your blessing.

Of course, the ideal is to learn to fulfill the fetish desires yourself, so your man can stay home and be happy. But life and relationships seldom run along the ideal continuum. I don’t think it’s healthy to send a message that mates (male or female) have to adapt to a partner’s fetish and fulfill it, if it goes against their grain. OK, you can experiment with ropes and blindfolds, with a bit of light spanking, etc. But what about the more hard-core fetishes?

I love John with all my heart. But he likes having things done to him that I couldn’t do in my dreams. Am I a bad girlfriend because I haven’t forced myself to do these things? Is he secretive and miserable? Yeah, yeah, I hear you guys out there. “Not all of us find playing with others outside the relationship acceptable.” OK. But if it’s such a selfish thing to be unable to fulfill your partner’s fetish, isn’t it also selfish to not consider allowing them to fulfill it elsewhere? If someone won’t do either, then that makes things a bit non-negotiable. But there is that third choice, and I don’t think it shouldn’t be ignored in an instructional manual for couples.

Maybe I’m taking this a bit too personally, because it hits close to home. What do you guys think?

EDIT: I do realize this is one lone paragraph, taken out of context. However, some of the surrounding copy seemed similar. And while I take issue with this particular concept, I’m not taking issue with the author. This person is well known and experienced. This is just my gut reaction to the concept that a mate should be expected to embrace and participate in his/her partner’s fetish.

In other news, I spent 5 1/2 hours with my former stepmother S yesterday. We talked and talked and talked, about everything imaginable. My parents. Her parents. Her marriage to my father. Her first husband, who just recently passed away. Show business (more Six Degrees of Hollywood: her ex-husband’s son is one of the directors of The Big Bang Theory, my favorite sitcom). Politics. Euthanasia (we are both staunch believers in it). She had two adorable little dogs (terrier mixes), both rescues, who scrambled all over me, brought me their toys and covered me with kisses.

A random memory I have from when my dad and S were married: They had a set of four sterling silver wine goblets, which they used every night. The glasses had some initials engraved at the bottom. When they split up, S took two of the glasses and left Dad the other two. I asked him what the initials stood for, but he refused to tell me. Soon after that, he got rid of his pair, because Vampira didn’t want him keeping anything that had to do with S. (rolling eyes)

Anyway, I mentioned these glasses to S last night, and she said she still had them! After all these years… I was surprised. She found them in the wet bar area — they were tarnished, but still beautiful. Finally found out what the initials stood for — I thought it was God knows what, the way my dad acted about it, but it turned out to be rather sweet. Then she said, “Would you like to have them?”

Oh. Would I. Kind of silly, I suppose. I don’t drink wine, and the initials on the glasses are from another time, another love. But I cherish them anyway.

As we said goodbye, she hugged and kissed me and said, “I love you.” I blurted, “I just adore you, and I’m so grateful you’re in my life.” I am, truly.

Once home, I found a silver-polishing cloth and spent several minutes buffing the tarnish off the glasses. They are gorgeous; elegant and classy.

Much like S. My beautiful stepmother, still lovely at nearly 81.

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