Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men

Copyright © Regan Wolfrom 2012

Book Cover Design by Christine Ko
Stock from Conrado/Bigstock.com

To my wonderful children. This may be the best they get for an inheritance.

1. High Times at the Sixth Annual Succubus Sisters Garage and Bake Sale

2. The Zombification of Amanda Hackensack

3. Gnome on Girl on Gnome: A Love Story

4. The Siamese Candidate

5. The Raven's Head Dagger and the Custom of the Seas

6. Vegans Are F**king Delicious

7. Maddy McKay and the Elves in Her House

8. The Ocean Goddess and The Home Run Queen

9. Born Again At Granny's Cave

I FIRST
met Maggie at the McDonald’s drive-thru on El Segundo Boulevard. She had the second car in line, and when the driver in front got out of his Audi to protest the lukewarm temperature of his Coke Zero, she’d been the first to come up with a workable solution, pulling an aluminum baseball bat out from her back seat.

There was something graceful about the way she smashed out both rear headlights, dressed smartly in a white wool pea coat, her long blond hair swaying in time with the bat. She carried that rhythm flawlessly from luxury car to a region of empty space not far from the terrified man’s head. I don’t think she intended to hit him, and she seemed pleased when he jumped back into his car and drove away, side-swiping the golden-arched exit sign as part of his retreat.

I’d never seen a woman as tough as Maggie, outside of Sister O’Hannan from catechism class at San Clemente, who’d selflessly taught me everything I needed to know about catholic guilt and the joy of hating men.

I got out of my car and walked towards her as she finished waving her bat at the long-departed douchebag.

“I’m Heather,” I said as I extended my hand. "You seem to have a gift for intimidation.”

“I’m Maggie,” she said. "It’s well-practiced, you know. I have a whole lot of brothers and a shitload of ex-husbands.” She smiled. "How ‘bout you?”

“I’ve been with a lot of men.”

I’m not sure why I said that.

She laughed.

We talked for a while, no one in line behind us having the balls to tell us to move out of the way, and we seemed to hit it off. I was laughing so hard I could feel my whole body shaking.

She made me feel good about myself.

Maggie invited me to come out to a bonfire at Dockweiler Beach that night, and trying to sound cool I said that I’d see if I could make it.

“See that you do,” Maggie said as she walked back to her car. “We could use more redheads.”

It didn’t take me long to find Maggie and her friends on the beach; they had by far the biggest bonfire and the largest crowd of onlookers, probably because Maggie and her friends were standing around the fire pit completely naked.

There were about a dozen of them, all just as gorgeous as Maggie, sitting, talking and laughing under the flight path of LAX, wearing nothing aside from their beaded friendship bracelets; I was taken aback, since Maggie had failed to mention that none of her friends owned clothing.