Over the next few weeks, I'm going to feature the openings of my romantic comedies. Confessions of the Sausage Queen isn't so much a romantic comedy as it is chick lit. Then again, it isn't really chick lit either. The main character, Mandy, isn't much interested in shoes, though she does take a great interest in saving the town's sausage factory and the jobs of the folks who work there. She's not interested in getting a man either, she's already got Randy, her on-again off-again husband, it's more a question of not quite knowing what to do with him. If I had to file it into a genre, I guess I'd go with crazy fun book. That's a category, isn't it?
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You might think driving all the way out to Over’s Pond, to the little bend where Randy kept the Airstream parked, somewhat illegally, on Big Bill Ludowski’s land, was overkill. It was eight miles out of town. On that day, of all days, I didn’t have eight miles to spare. Besides which, Randy, despite the transient look of an Airstream with a chemical toilet, was pretty much a permanent fixture in my life. He had a cell phone. A cell phone whose number was on my speed dial as three, one being Gran Lila’s house and two
being Sammy’s school. Given all this, you’d no doubt think driving all the way up an old dirt road to remind Randy to pick up Sammy from kindergarten was overkill. You could have just called, you are probably inclined to say. Which is, pretty much word-for-word, exactly what Randy said.
being Sammy’s school. Given all this, you’d no doubt think driving all the way up an old dirt road to remind Randy to pick up Sammy from kindergarten was overkill. You could have just called, you are probably inclined to say. Which is, pretty much word-for-word, exactly what Randy said.
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