Damnit, I Do
by Abigail
If I didn't know better, I'd turn around and follow my parents back home to Louisiana. I'd find me a good Christian boy to marry and give our parents bouncing babies by the score. You'd find me in church on Sundays in prim white, elbow deep in dishwater and a smile on my face as sunny as the apron I'd wear and setting back the feminist movement by a couple decades and play at being happy homemaker. Behind my picket fence with the climbing ivy and the cat in the window at night watching the fireflies.
But Damnit, I do.