Page 54 of Bringing Home the Bacon
I slowly creep through the kitchen door of Colleen’s gran’s house, trying not to wake anyone.
I almost have a heart attack when someone says, “How was the titty bar, dear?”
Ethel Bedd sits in the dark kitchen, wearing the same red-and-white-striped pajamas as I am.
“Wow!” I say, my heart pounding. “There you are! Hello! I mean, good evening, Mrs. Bedd. Did I—did I—I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“Not at all. I’m what they call a night owl. Hoot, hoot! Did you have fun with the boys? Tell me about your titty time.”
“We had... a lot of fun. But, ma’am…” I swallow. “I think you mean Tiddy’s? As I learned tonight, it’s a double D, not a double T.”
“Ah, I remember when I had double Ds,” she says wistfully.
Am I supposed to respond to that?
Apparently, I am because the sweet woman is staring at me expectantly.
“What, um, what happened to them?” I try desperately not to cast my eyes anywhere in the vicinity of her chest.
“Breastfeeding happened, dear. Don’t tell Colleen this, but breastfeeding can suck the life right out of a lady’s titties.”
“Mrs. Bedd, would it be okay if neither of us said titties again in each other’s presence?”
“Oh, of course. Your generation is all about setting boundaries, right?”
“I guess so?”
“I can respect that. No more tittie talk.” She waves her hands and moves toward the hallway. Let’s get you upstairs. I set you up a little Bedd bed in my husband’s old office. I would gladly offer you the spare bedroom or the attic, but we’ve had WWOOFers staying with us. They’re away briefly for the holidays but left their things in their rooms, and I’d rather not violate their privacy.”
“You’ve had dogs staying with you?”
“No, dear.” She chuckles. “WWOOFers. It stands for Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms. Folks volunteer on farms like ours in exchange for free room and board.”
“Ah, I see.” I follow her up a creaky set of stairs and whisper, “I was hoping to talk to Colleen. Is she already asleep?”
“I think you were hoping to share a bed with Colleen,” she whispers back saucily.
“No, ma’am. Not at all.”
“I know it seems silly having you two sleep separately when you’ve already made a baby together, but I have to hang on to at least a few of my old-fashioned beliefs. Hard as I try to get rid of them, those pesky ‘what will the neighbors think’ thoughts still swim around in my mind from time to time.”
“I completely understand.”
“Though I did let it slide when Sam and Diane were getting cozy under my roof not too long ago,” Colleen’s grandmother continues. “But those kids needed a little push in the right direction. Let’s just say I take these matters on a case-by-case basis.”
“You don’t owe me any explanation, ma’am. This is your home. I will gladly abide by your rules.”
“Such a nice boy.”
We reach the top of the steps, and she ushers me through an open door. “Here we are. I blew up this very uncomfortable air mattress for you and placed your suitcase in that small closet. Bathroom is right down the hall and should have everything you need. Convenient that you’re already in your jammies too, isn’t it?”
“It is. Thank you for including me in your new family tradition. I have to say, you look adorable in those holiday jammies, Mrs. Bedd.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. When you have a figure like mine, you might as well flaunt it, I always say!”
“Do you always say that?” I ask. It seems a little out of character for the woman Colleen has described.
“Well, I do now,” she explains. “I’m in the era of trying new things. Give me a follow on TikTok, and you’ll see what I mean!”
