Confessions of a Triple Shot Betty

Sometimes, a girl just has to dive under the duvet and regroup.

Sure, okay, I'll pick up some cat litter. Anything else?" "Watch your back, G." Then she hung up. Hero paused in her sobbing to look at me quizzically. "Why does your mom want cat litter? You guys don't even have a cat." "She uses it for..." I searched my brain madly, but all I could come up with was "teaching." "She uses cat litter to teach English?" I nodded. "She's kind of unconventional in her methods." Hero frowned. "But how does she use it?" The girl was relentless when she fixated on something. "Um, when their papers are really bad, she gives them a little bag of cat litter. It's her way of telling them their writing is crap." I laughed. "She's kooky.

Think of it as a life experience," I mumbled. "Isn't your dad always saying we need more of that?" "I don't think prancing around PJ Jamieson's pool in our underwear is exactly what he had in mind.

La-di-dah, just out for a little spin, don't mind me.

Went home briefly to get my halter dress for Hero's party, and Mom was waiting for me at the kitchen table. Either she's psychic, or she totally reads my journal, because I haven't said a word about Ben, but somehow she knows something is up. She was siting with a tray of peanut butter crackers, milk, and about twenty pamphlets on STDs she got from her friend Connie, a nurse at Kaiser. When she started showing me pictures of genital warts, I put my cracker down and said, 'Mom, is this really necessary?' She said, 'Honey, I just want you to understand the risks.' 'Yeah, thanks. Now I'm so traumatized I won't have sex until I'm a senior citizen.' She smiled. 'Great. I guess I've done my job then. Do you want a sandwich.

Come on Geena. Dude's slippery as hell. He could talk his way out of a blow job in the Oval Office.