Breeding women stories

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Sunday Stories. Four large pieces bundled in a ziplock baggie, stuffed beneath her wallet and an unopened package of spearmint breath mints. She stood in front of her stove, frying the strips until they turned crunchy brown and grease spattered her bare arms. Her hair carried the scent of it hours later. It made her stomach rumble, that good greasy breakfast smell. It reminded her of childhood. Monica told the barista her coffee order and paid with cash.

On television commercials dogs went crazy for bacon. There was something so satisfying about the salt and the fat, Monica thought. That made them easier to deal with. The sun would likely burn off the gray morning fog before she even hit the park. It was October, and Monica knew that meant the chance of rain was slim. One of the driest months in Florida, other than April. A nice time of year to leave your windows open. Maybe one of the only times to sit outside without attracting mosquitoes.

The woman behind her juggled a cardboard tray stuffed with oversized coffee cups. A brown paper bag full Breeding women stories scones threatened to slide off the top. Hunching over, Monica put out her elbows and grabbed the creamer. She took her time, leaning down to smell the deep, burnt aroma that always woke up her taste buds.

Coffee was the best way to wake up, her father always said. He drank his black, but Monica liked a little splash of something to lighten hers. Aside from the cream, there were different kinds of flavored sweeteners. One that looked a little like cinnamon. The woman behind her cleared her throat.

Monica hummed and picked up another one. Cocoa powder? There were plastic stir sticks perched in a little cup, but Monica liked the wooden ones better because they were wrapped. Much more hygienic, she thought selecting one and peeling back Breeding women stories paper. Outside, a man walked past holding a travel mug in one hand and a leash in the other. This one was mottled brown and too big; its head was heavy like a rock. Hot liquid splattered the ground. It sounded like someone throwing up.

The woman yelled and tripped over something, perhaps a chair leg. She put the lid back on her own coffee and turned to leave. A dark river flowed across the tile floor, touching the shoes of several people who waited in line for coffees of their own. She was crying a little and dark makeup ran below her right eye.

Both of them kneeled to collect the cups. She kicked the bag of scones with her sneaker and it skid across the tile, creating a wake in the lake on the floor. The woman dropped one of the cups to try and reach for it. More coffee leaked out. She had a run in her pantyhose and when she kneeled like that it was pulling it longer, and longer, like an invisible hand was stripping the thre. Monica stepped around customers waiting by the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.

It was shaping up to be a beautiful day and it made Monica feel happy to be awake and alive. She reached into her purse and felt for the bag of bacon. One of the pieces broke under her fingertips. She removed her hand and kept walking. There was the red and black tartan dog bed, placed right at the end of her own. There was a collection of nylabones and chewing rings, perfect for small-to-medium breeds. Her father always said it was important to measure for quality, not quantity. She felt good about her choices. People walked past with different kinds of dogs.

There were roly ones and slim ones, little yippy pups that pranced past on legs the size of twigs. Those dogs barked if you walked too close to them. She frowned at one with ears like a bat and crossed the street, scouting for other dogs.

It was funny to look at the people, to Breeding women stories their resemblance to their pets. A man jogged past in bright blue running clothes. His dog, very wiry and black, wore a matching blue bandana. An elderly woman walked a frizzy white dog with ears that stuck up attentively, as if tuning in for radio als.

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Monica took a sip of her coffee and smiled; the perfect temperature. It was a nice place with a gravel path and a lot of trees, benches, and a playground for the kids deed to look like an oversized castle. Monica sat down on an empty bench beside the playground. Not too many kids were out yet, which was good. They yelled a lot and the sound could sometimes be distracting. She drank her coffee and watched runners churn up gravel on the path that meandered through the park. There was a dog area cordoned off to the far right, blockaded by a chain link fence.

Only one dog was loose there now, a yellow mutt chasing after a tennis ball. It was usually muddy in that section of the park; at least it had been every time Monica had dropped by to scope out the perimeter. Muddy and full of fecal matter. The yellow dog had muck all over its forelegs. Some of it dotted his muzzle when he dug behind a bush for the ball. Her father had scrubbed their dog three times in a row, every bath. Across the playground, a woman set up birthday party decorations Breeding women stories one of the picnic tables. She pulled out a large stack of neon pink party hats and little pink gift bags that kept blowing over in the breeze.

The woman tried to smooth a plastic cloth over the tabletop, but it kept flying up at either end and folding back across the middle. Her little girl ran around in circles while she worked to right everything. The girl made shrieking noises that went up in pitch. Some of them took flight and flipped up into the branches of an oak, perched in the leaves like bright paper flowers.

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Her party dress was the same color as the napkins that buffeted the table. Her coffee was getting cold. A man walked past with a black and white spotted dog. Its tail wagged back and forth rhythmically, keeping beat like a metronome. A yellow river ran down the dirt, over an anthill, and stopped to collect near her shoe. She lifted her feet and turned away from them. The spotted dog with its bladder control issues was one of the bad ones. She yanked it away and onto her lap. He had to pull extra hard to get the dog back on the path and away from the bench.

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More people had shown up at the birthday table. In the middle of the table sat a layer cake, its pink and white icing bright enough to resemble playdough. Presents spilled over onto the bench seat. A couple of moms leaned into each other, talking quietly. Kids plucked streamers from the table and ran around with them, whooping and screaming.

It had a tube slide that twirled around and spiraled into the mulch. Monica finished her coffee and replaced the lid, setting it beneath the bench.

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It left a coating on her tongue from where the cream had left scummy fat. She wished she had water to rinse out her mouth, but then she might have to pee. Thinking about going to the bathroom made Breeding women stories bladder hurt. She willed herself to think of something else. The dog. Checking her watch, she noted it was getting close to time.

Kites dotted the sky. One was shaped like a bright turquoise parrot, another like an orange tabby cat. She wondered why someone would choose to put a land mammal on a kite that flew. What Monica knew about cats was that they were filthy and went to the bathroom in litter boxes. Just like that, they steal the breath right from their tiny lungs. When he finally let go, Monica wheezed and her vision went dark and spotty. Remember that, if you ever think about getting a cat, her father said, shaking his head.

Breeding women stories

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