When I was in the fifth grade, my girlfriends and I would lurk at the magazine stand at Falley's Market. We spent hours thumbing through the pages of Woman's Day and Family Circle. Not because we had any particular interest in how to crochet potholders or the fifty delicious ways to serve canned ham. More because it was Kansas in the middle of July, (hot as hell doesn't really cover it). We were there for the air conditioning.
When we ran out of happy homemaker rags, we moved on to Popular Mechanics, Field and Stream, The Farmers Almanac, Mad Magazine. It was right there in Falley’s Market, in July, in Kansas, that my previously sheltered kid-life changed forever.
Big Judes (My Mom- Judy, who we all called "Big Judes" behind her back for at least fifteen years before she found out) always had magazines at home: Redbook, Better Homes and Gardens, the standard Mom fare.
What she never had, what she probably had never even seen (indulge my sheltered kid fantasy here) was True Confessions Magazine. “Girls in Jail”, “The devil’s Mistress", “I Was Sold to Pirates: By Anonymous”, “Sin, Sex, Scandal, a glimpse into the forbidden”.
Did grown-ups really do this stuff? I had always known that they were stupid; this confirmed it. I was validated. Even my not fully-developed ten-year-old brain knew that falling in love with your brother-in- law was not a good idea.
We spent the rest of the summer (the hot days anyway), at Falley’s, concealing True Confessions inside Tiger Beat so the bakery ladies wouldn’t bust us with the contraband. I was hooked.
Smut was my pre-adolescent drug of choice.
Give me a root beer and some pulp fiction and I am in naughty girl heaven--still. I am also a stupid grown-up. Yes they really do this stuff, worse stuff.
In True Confessions, the protaginist always repented in the end. In real life, grown- ups usually don’t. They move on to do more stupid stuff.
In celebration of crossing the dumb ass bridge into adulthood, I am declaring fridays
“True Confession Fridays” at least until I run out of sinful, sexy, scandalous Un-fucking believable grown-up stupidity to confess.
“I Was In Love with an Evil Clown”
It’s True! I swear!
I chick-chick-chicken swear. No take backs.