The steel-framed front door to my bliss was sleek and modern but unassuming. Every seventeen-year-old knew where to go. I passed Penumbra’s Wing Emporium every day on my way to my government job; I was the fastest person in my division when it came to completing Form JX7073, which the public doesn’t know about but which pretty much holds the country together.
Everyone in my workplace was a woman over fifty. The government, as well as civilized, polite society, assumed we were invisible. There was no threat that we will get the notion to reveal the classified information we have. Our power touched every citizen, yet each person dismissed it as a benign talcum, so smooth you do not feel the rough granules. The women of my division accepted that.
My perspective changed Monday when Frances had the nerve to walk in sporting a flashy pair of line-green satin wings. I had brought in two dozen pudgy cream-filled Bismarcks that scarcely received a nibble amidst all the chaos. They would turn crusty by tomorrow; the Amish shop I patronized doesn’t use preservatives. I resolved to enjoy the leftovers as I watched “Dancing with the Stars.” Continue reading “The Late Bloomer Goes Wing Shopping | Janet Slike”