I, Sloane Templeton had a fabulous,
thought-provoking and exciting job as an internet forensics
investigator for the black ops Cyber Crimes Unit that the CIA was
developing at New York University. That was, until that
good-for-nothing husband I had hooked my star to, decided that
I was better as a punching bag than as a significant other, and I had
to
flee New York City and move back to Brooklyn.
Just six months back and already my dear mother, God rest her soul,
decided there was more pressing business with Jesus, and deserted me
for a glorious Homegoing, leaving me to deal with the lunatic fringe
that had become her life.
There’s Felicia Tyler, better know as Fefe, bright red, tightly permed
hair, wearer of noisy jewelry and ungodly bright spandex. She’s the
half-batty manager of mom’s bookstore, and the batty part plays with
loaded guns.
Then comes Aunt Verline Buford, mom’s younger sister, who fancies
herself as the Iron Chef, when in reality you need a cast-iron stomach
to partake of her disasters. She had her last husband die of food
poisoning, but they swear that she didn’t cause it. Just to be safe, I
take a food tester when I go to her house, usually picking whoever I’m
mad at that day as the sacrificial lamb.
And last but by no means the least of my worries, the Granny Oakleys
book club, a strange bunch of little old people from the neighborhood
that meet at the store once a week and smell like food. I don’t exactly
know what they do, but I’ve never see any of them with a book.
Oh, and let’s not forget that I did the ‘from the frying pan into the
fire’ routine, and left the punching bag prize fighter to come home and
hook up with a homicidal maniac. Heh, heh…got your attention didn’t I.
Well he’s not exactly a maniac in the most literal of terms, but there
are rumors about the homicidal part that I’d rather ignore, especially
since I kicked him to the curb, and found my dream man…the love of my
life…the pièce de résistance. Never mind that mom thought he was the
wrong color and Fefe just plain don’t cotton to him.
But it’s all good.
We are the world. And it’s a purely rhetorical question…But what else
could possibly go wrong?
