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No belt. Black silk hose and wingtips completed ... or so I thought.I sweated the Arrival.My partner made an entrance. Her dress matched my tie ... exactly. Her hair was up and fine ... My brain said... Where is Grace?The vision that tripped lightly down the stairs wore Cornflower Blue ... Cornflower Blue that hugged curves. Curves that started at tiny slipper clad feet and ended at an impossibly long and aristocratic neck. The route taken crossed the Alps on the way up ... twice ... and severe. You know, this is the only life for me. Being a domestic goddess. This is my purpose in life. It’s what I was born to do, to cook, to clean, to mother people. Nurturing. It’s just ... my role in life. Home. Family. These are what I do, what I know.“It’s no accident that my favorite deity is Hestia, or as the Romans called her, Vesta. Goddess of hearth and home. I pray to her a lot, along with Mother Gaia, Kubaba Cybele, the Cappadocian Goddess Ma, Hecate, Isis, and Dann or Dana. Brigid as well.. I'd better back up a little here, so you aren't completely lost, in my rambling! The Mailman I mentioned, living next door, worked the night shift at a routing facility, and his wife worked days, as a nurse. They were trying to get ahead on their mortgage, so she took a double shift, when she could. The Hazel eyes and red hair, in my crotch, belonged to their seventeen year old adopted daughter, Molly.I knew her well, as she had been baby-sitting my Bobby since she was born, and she was14 and. The big door was open. Tom sat silhouetted in the yellow light, strumming bluesy chords. His long hair was loose and disheveled. Beer bottles sat in a bucket of ice at his side. Empties lay scattered in the dirt. ‘Hey! How’s it going?’ Startled, Tom straightened up. He was bare-chested and acted a little embarrassed. Nervously, he combed a hand through his hair, and mumbled, ‘It’s all good. How’s Mr. Wentworth?’ ‘He’s doing better. Dad would like to see you before he leaves on Monday.’ As she.
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