Allistair squeaked and clasped her hands over her face. “Please don’t kill me while I’m naked.”
The nun fired the gun.
Ask Allie
The following is an excerpt from the nationally syndicated column Ask Allie:
Dear Allie,
My girlfriend and I have been living together for six months. We are compatible in every way except for one. She insists on coming in the bathroom while I’m on the toilet. She brushes her teeth or washes her face and even takes a shower while I’m trying to go to the bathroom. I can’t tinkle or poop with her in the room. I tried to tell her but she just turned the water on and told me to plug my ears and hum. All I want is a few moments of privacy so I can do my thing. What should I do?
Sincerely,
Constipated Connie
Dear Connie,
Your problem is more common than you would think. You are going to have to put your foot down and get a lock on the bathroom door. It has been proven that couples that watch each other use the bathroom facilities don’t have sex as often as couples that do not. And as I’ve said before, sex is the glue that holds a relationship together. So, lock that bathroom door and reward her with lots of loving!
Speaking of bathroom problems, the next time your shower drain is clogged try emptying a bottle of Nair down the drainpipe. If it can remove hair from your legs just imagine what it can do to the pipe! It’s cheaper and more effective than the brand name drain cleaners.
Sincerely,
Allie
The Cleaning Woman
Allistair sat motionless in the cold water of the tub. Either she was dead and couldn’t feel pain or the nun hadn’t really shot her. She peeked between her fingers. The nun was smiling. She quickly raised her gun and shot Allistair again. A stream of liquid spurted out of the gun and hit Allistair in the forehead.
“A water pistol? You shot me with a water pistol?” Allistair sputtered.
“What? You want I should use the real thing?”
“Is this some kind of joke?” Willy said, putting her hands on her hips. She tried to sound gruff but it was hard to do when you were decked out in a nightshirt.
“No joke.” The nun held the gun out toward Willy. “Sure looks real, huh? They wouldn’t let me have a real thing, so I had to make do with this water pistol. They call me Sister Helena,” the nun said. “Youse two must be Sisters Alice and Wanda.”
“You know who we are?” Willy asked.
“Mother Superior told me youse guys were coming. She thought I might be able to show youse the ropes. Seeing as how we’re in the same boat and all.”
“And what boat would that be?” Allistair asked.
“You know, the boat where nobody knows where you are and youse is in hiding from the mob. That boat,” Sister Helena said. “The nuns on the run boat.”
“You’re in the Witness Protection Program, too?” Willy asked.
“Yeah. For three years now,” Sister Helena said.
“Three years!” Allistair exclaimed.
“No fucking way,” Willy said. “I’m not hiding out as a nun for three years.”
“Yeah well, being a nun ain’t so bad. I was Catholic already. Grew up with a bunch of sisters. This is kinda the same thing. It grows on you, you know?” Sister Helena said, smacking her gum.
Allistair pulled the plug on her tub and said, “Would you two mind turning around so I can have some privacy?”
Willy rolled her eyes, but turned her back. Sister Helena followed suit. Allistair got out of the tub, padded across the floor, and dressed in the other nightshirt while they talked.
“So, nice to meet you, Sister Helena,” Willy said.
“Nice to meet youse, too.”
They shook hands. “What did you do to get put here?” Willy asked.
“I’m the cleaning lady,” Sister Helena said with an air of pride.
“Cleaning lady?” Willy asked. “What happened? You didn’t scrub somebody’s bathtub ring good enough?”
“Oh! I’ve heard of you!” Allistair exclaimed. She was now dressed in the nightshirt. She padded back across the floor and joined Willy and Sister Helena. “You were responsible for putting away the Guccione mobsters!”
Sister Helena rocked back on her heels with a smug look on her face. “Yeah, I was pretty famous there for awhile. The papers gave me the name ‘The Cleaning Lady.’”
“That’s right,” Allistair said to Willy. “She was the one the mob hired to clean up after all their killings. Then she turned state’s evidence and single-handedly put all those mobsters away.”
“Yep, that was me all right.” Sister Helena blew a bubble and popped it.
“And this is where you ended up? Sleeping in a bathtub in a convent that’s really a cat sanctuary?” Willy said.
“Could be worse. I could be six feet under,” Sister Helena said.
“So why were you in the bathtub?” Allistair asked.
“My roommate snores. If I don’t fall asleep first I’m doomed.”
“Why don’t you just get a new roommate?” Willy asked.
“Because that would break her heart,” Sister Helena said. “She’s the sensitive type, you know.”
“That’s sweet,” Allistair said.
“Does she know you sleep in the bathtub?” Willy asked.
“Nah. Don’t youse tell her neither. She’d die if she knew that her rasping, guttural, choking noises kept me awake.” Sister Helena opened her mouth wide. She stuck the barrel of her gun between her teeth and squirted. After she swallowed, she pointed the gun at Willy, “Want a hit?”
“Somehow I get the feeling that’s not water,” Willy said.
“You’re a quick learner,” Sister Helena said.
“What’s in there?” Allistair asked.
Sister Helena aimed at Allistair and fired. The stream of liquid hit Allistair on the arm. Allistair raised her arm and tentatively licked. “Alcohol?”
“Vodka,” Sister Helena said.
“Since when do convents have vodka?” Allistair asked.
“They don’t,” Sister Helena said. “That’s why they need me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You name it, I can get it for you. Cigarettes, liquor, panty hose, dildos, batteries, knives, razors… nothing is too much for Sister Helena.”
Willy laughed. “So, you’re like the smuggler in prison. Only you’re in a convent.”
“You got it, Sister. They call me the lugger.” Sister Helena said. “As long as it can fit under a habit, I can lug it in.”
“You think you can get me a book? The complete works of Charles Dickens?” Willy asked.
“Sure thing,” Sister Helena answered. “Though why’d you want that is beyond me.”
“If I’m going to be here three years, I need something to read,” Willy said. She pointed to her mouth and said, “Shoot me.”
Sister Helena raised her pistol and shot a stream of vodka into Willy’s mouth. She toasted Willy and Allistair in Italian, “Per cent’anni!” then shot herself in the mouth.
Maxi Spanx
Allistair and Willy’s tiny room was as dark as a tomb. Allistair was in one bed and Willy in the other.
“This place really needs a nightlight,” Allistair said. “I wrote an advice column on the virtues and vices of nightlights once. I was definitely in the pro-nightlight camp. They can interrupt a person’s sleep but that is far outweighed by the safety of being able to see on the way to the bathroom so you don’t break a hip falling in the dark. It was my one of my highest rated columns. Second only to the letter I answered about the pros and cons of toilet paper.”
“There’s a con to toilet paper?” Willy asked.
“About how to put it on the roller, not the toilet paper itself.”
“Oh good. You had me worried about the state of your butt-hole for a minute there,” Willy said.
“You probably don’t realize how controversial the subject is. Should you put the toilet p
aper on the roller doohickey where the paper rolls over or where it rolls under? Believe it or not, it can snowball into a make-or-break issue in a relationship. So which are you? The over camp or the under camp?”
There was no answer.
“Willy? Are you asleep?”
“I’m dead. I think you just bored me to death.”
“Well, sorry, but I can’t sleep. These sheets are too scratchy. I didn’t think it was possible to have a negative thread count.”
“What the fuck is a thread count?”
“Sheets have a thread count. The higher the count the softer the sheets,” Allistair said.
“And here I just thought they needed to be washed a few more times before they got soft. Silly me.”
“The problem with you, Sister Wanda, is that I never know if you’re being facetious or not. That’s one of the things I like about 0699. She’s easy to talk to and very literal-minded. There’s no subterfuge or facetiousness or linguistic trickery. Well, other than the fact that we didn’t use our real names and the innuendo of a sexual position that hung in the middle of her 0699 numerical avatar. I meant to ask 0699 about that—if she picked her number or if it was chosen for her—but somehow there had never been a right time. You’re probably wondering how I could have mistaken you for 0699. Well, there was the lack of a photo or any live webcam. 0699 had been rather recalcitrant when it came to that, citing that she was a very private person. I couldn’t really fault her for that, could I? So, actually, I have no idea what she looks like. She could’ve been sitting one table over and I didn’t know it. What do you think? Do you think 0699 was in the restaurant? Did you see any other lesbian-types while you were waiting?” Allistair asked.
“You do realize you talk a fucking lot, right?”
“I do not talk a lot,” Allistair said.
“You’re literally saying out loud every word you think. You might want to consider keeping some of that stuff inside your head,” Willy said.
“You saw her, didn’t you?” Allistair asked.
“I didn’t see anybody,” Willy said. “Goodnight.”
“I can’t sleep.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Willy said, “Do you want to fuck?”
“What?” Allistair asked.
“You can’t sleep. Which means you won’t let me sleep. It’s night. There’s no TV. No books. There’s nothing but us and our beds. I think we should fuck.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“That’s what’s wrong with you,” Willy said.
“What? What’s wrong with me?”
“You think sex is disgusting.”
“I don’t think it’s disgusting,” Allistair said. “I think it should be reserved for the person you love. There’s a difference.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“I think I did see 0699,” Willy whispered.
“You did?”
“Yep. She was two tables down from us. She had a book of poetry in her hands. She had hair on her knuckles and a faint mustache. I didn’t realize mullets were back in style. It looked good on her though. She was too outdoorsy looking for my tastes, but if that’s what you like in a woman. She looked like Daniel Boone with a vag.”
“I hate you,” Allistair growled.
“I can’t believe you’ve never even seen a picture of her. Weren’t you even a little bit curious?”
“It’s not about how you look. It’s what on the inside,” Allistair said.
Willy heard Allistair’s bedsprings squeaking. “What are you doing over there? Are you masturbating?”
“You are one sick individual. I am putting on my Maxi Spanx,” Allistair said.
“What the fuck are Maxi Spanx?”
“They’re supportive tights. I wear them all the time. For support.”
“What the fuck are they supporting?” Willy asked.
“My legs and my tush,” Allistair said, groaning as she pulled them on.
“Sounds to me like you’re working yourself into quite a lather. You sure you’re not touching yourself?”
“Shut up.”
Willy said in a high falsetto voice, “Oh, 0699, do it to me again. Peel off my Maxi Spanx and make me come. I love you, 0699, it doesn’t matter that you look like Davy Crockett. Spanx my tooshie harder!”
“Oh, you think you’re so funny. You should try Maxi Spanx. They keep everything in place.”
“Are you inferring my stuff isn’t where it should be?”
“Well…” Allistair said. “You do have a bit of jiggle in your backyard.”
“So you were looking at my ass, huh? You dirty birdie.”
“You’ll wish you had listened to me. Someday when we’re seventy years old, my tush will still be perky and yours will be sagging down behind your knees. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Allistair said with a smirk-laced tone.
“If you don’t care what you look like why do you need to wear Maxi Spanx? If it’s all about what’s on the inside what do you care what your legs and ass looks like?” Willy said.
“There is nothing wrong with being the best you can be.”
“Isn’t that a fuckin’ hair color commercial?”
“The L’Oreal hair color mission statement is ‘Because I’m worth it.’ I think ‘The best you can be’ is the army. You know, how you present yourself to the world is an outward manifestation of how you perceive yourself.”
“What the fuck ever. You realize that 0699 could be fabricating everything about herself, right? She could even be a man. She could be an eighty-five year old woman living in a nursing home. She could be a murdering sociopath.”
“She is not. She’s a lesbian and an architect, a fine art collector, a pudding heiress, and she has her own clothing line.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I never kid.”
“A pudding heiress? A fucking pudding heiress? Is her last name Jell-O?”
“Why do you care? You hate me anyway so why are you so upset that my one true love is a pudding heiress,” Allistair spit.
There was no answer.
Allistair said, “Don’t have an answer for that one, huh?”
There was still no answer.
“Just what I thought. It’s jealousy. You’re jealous of 0699.”
A loud snore cut through the dark.
“I can’t believe you fell asleep right in the middle of our conversation,” Allistair breathed.
Willy snored again. She blinked in the dark. She was only pretending to sleep. What Allistair said about being jealous had hit home. Why did she care so much about Allistair’s love life? She fell asleep with that question rattling around in her brain.
Ask Allie
The following is an excerpt from the nationally syndicated Ask Allie column:
Dear Allie,
My long-term girlfriend and I would like you to settle a dispute for us. I put the toilet paper on the roll with the loose edge coming over the roller and she puts it on where the loose edge comes out from under the roller. This may not sound like a big deal, but have you ever gone to the bathroom in the middle of the night, peed in the dark and then tried to get the toilet paper off the roll by rolling it around the wrong way? I have done this a zillion times and, let me tell you, after all the endless rolling I cannot go back to sleep.
Neither one of us is willing to change. This has turned out to be deal breaker for both of us. So, please help us, Allie, which is the proper way to put the toilet paper on the roll?
Sincerely,
P.O.’d at T.P. PP
Dear T.P.,
I am so sorry to hear that this issue is a deal breaker for you both. I suggest you take a closer look at your relationship. You may be projecting a deeper dissatisfaction onto the toilet paper issue. I also would like to forewarn you both that passive aggressive fighting about the toilet paper will never heal your heart.
I suggest you compromise by setting the toilet paper roll on the back of the toilet i
nstead of putting it on the roller. Better yet, buy a cute little basket and put the roll of paper in there. You know, some European countries use wet wipes instead of paper. Maybe you should consider purchasing a box of those.
Here’s a fun fact: Toilet paper is made from recycled books. Remember that awful book you had to read in Middle School English class? You’re probably wiping your butt with it today. You feel better already, don’t you?
Sincerely,
Allie
Nun Ya Business
Willy was sound asleep and in the throes of a delectable dream. In her dream she was eating a cream puff. She was starving and the cream puff was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She stuck her tongue deep inside the cream puff and swirled it round and round, making yummy noises deep in her throat.
“Rise and shine!” a voice cried out. A burst of light filled the room.
Willy recoiled the second the light hit her eyes. “What the fuck!” she shouted. “Are you fucking crazy?” She buried her head under her pillow.
Achoo!
Willy peeked out from under her pillow and saw Sister Peaches standing in the doorway, one hand on the light switch and the other hand holding a stack of clothing.
Allistair sat up in her bed and smiled at Sister Peaches apologetically. “I don’t think Sister Wanda is a morning person.”
“Kiss my ass,” Willy said from under her pillow.
Sister Peaches giggled. “Good morning, Sisters. Mother Superior sent me to rouse you two. You need to hurry and get dressed or you’ll be late for matins.”
Willy poked her head out from under her pillow and glared at Sister Peaches. “I was having a great sex dream before you so callously interrupted it.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Allistair said.
“What’s so fuckin’ good about it?” Willy said. She burrowed back under the covers.
“I brought your habits so you can get dressed. They’re one size fits all,” said Sister Peaches.
Allistair hopped out of bed. She grabbed an edge of Willy’s blanket and pulled it back, revealing Willy balled up in the fetal position. “Time to get dressed,” Allistair said. “Up and at ’em!”
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