People I Want to Punch in the Throat by Jen Mann Read Free Book Online Page A

emphasized “husband,” hoping Flag Shorts would get the hint.
    “I can’t borrow her for a bit?” Flag Shorts asked the Hubs.
    The Hubs chewed his cud slowly and contemplated the question. You son of a bitch! “No,” he finally said. “She’s right. I need her with me. I like her to get my food for me. Joslyn, I need more deviled eggs, woman!”
    Flag Shorts shrugged and left us.
    “I will be in the car,” I announced.
    “Wait. I’m not done,” the Hubs said.
    “I don’t care. I will be in the car. Waiting for you.”
    “What about Maryanne? Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
    “No. She doesn’t even know my name. She’s so sauced she won’t even remember I was here.”
    I got out to the car and texted my co-worker Dennis.
Jen: Hey, what’s the deal with Maryanne?
Dennis: Why? Did she invite you to her party?
Jen: Yes.
Dennis: DON’T go.
Jen: Too late.
Dennis: LOL. Is she in her thong?
Jen: Yes!
Dennis: Sorry. Thought you knew. She’s tightly wound at work, so when she’s home, she likes to let loose.
Jen: She likes to swing!
Dennis: Yeah, that too. You really didn’t know?
Jen: Of course not.
Dennis: Thought everyone did. Every year she ropes some newbie into coming to her party. You’re the sucker this year.
Jen: Great. You saw me talking to her; you should have told me.
Dennis: Sorry. Didn’t you see the rock when you pulled up to her house?
Jen: What rock? What are you talking about?
Dennis: The white rock in the flower beds by her front door.
    I looked up, and sure enough, there was a large white boulder nestled into her flowers.
Jen: I see it now. So what?
Dennis: Wow. You have a lot to learn about this town. Didn’t your Realtor tell you? They all know that a white rock like that means you’re a swinger. It lets other swingers know they’re welcome. It’s also a warning to those who don’t swing. It lets them know to steer clear.
Jen: Oh shit.
Dennis: Well, now you’re stuck.
Jen: No I’m not. I’m in the car. We’re leaving.
Dennis: You can’t leave.
Jen: What do you mean?
Dennis: Her neighborhood is shut down. The cops put up barricades to control the crowds for the fireworks. The barricades are up. You can’t leave until the fireworks are over. You might as well go have a Jell-O shot and enjoy the display.
Jen: How do you know so much?
Dennis: Who do you think the sucker was when I was a newbie? Tell Elliot I said hello and that I would still like to buy him a swimsuit whenever he’s ready. Happy Fourth of July! At least this will be one you’ll never forget!
    The Hubs joined me on the curb with a plate of food he’d made for me. He was right—the pasta salad was delicious. I showed him the text messages from Dennis. “We’re trapped,” I told him.
    “Sounds like it.”
    “Where’s the platter my eggs were on?” I asked him.
    “I forgot it. I really don’t want to go back in there. It’s starting to get a little strange. I’ll get you a new one.”
    “Okay.”
    We watched the fireworks alone from the street and then headed home.
    On Monday my deviled egg platter was on my desk. It was sparkling clean and a Post-it was attached: JOSLYN .

The Hubs and I have always had trouble making friends with our neighbors. We’re not total curmudgeons who yell at the kids to keep off our lawn, but we do let it be known that we’re never happy to find someone else’s dog shit on our grass, and we rarely walk over someone’s junk mail that was accidentally placed in our mailbox. I actually think that last one is very neighborly of us. Who really wants that mailer with the practically worthless coupons from the expensive dry cleaner? My neighbor should thank me for recycling it for him and then we can avoid the awkward chitchat about how I saw him watch his dog take a dump in my bushes last week.
    We’re not very good at the niceties and the small talk that are required to be a good neighbor, so block parties and barbecues tend to be awkward. Our politics rarely jibe