Confessions of a farmchick: Long, long ago in a city far, far away part 2

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Of course Jane knew about Mr. Strange’s dirty little secret, but she never ever would dare expose him…it would be wrong. Even though the thought fleetingly crossed her mind, it was not in her nature to do so. Even if Mr. Strange screamed and shouted at her and told her she would never amount to anything other than typing out letters or packing boxes, Jane would never treat him with the same form of hatred, dissatisfaction and unkindness he had shown her. Jane’s negative, nervous energy quietly transformed itself into spastic colons, sleepless nights, nightmares and very little hope of a smile, let alone love.

 

Here, dear reader you need to imagine Jane bending down and quietly whispering in your ear as she divulges the torrid secret. Though Mr. Strange was certainly married to Mrs. Strange (who was probably at that very moment sitting down to high tea with cucumber sandwiches somewhere in England as etiquette demands) and indeed had the wedding band to prove it, he was inordinately fond of Miss True; his newly acquired partner in crime, business & pleasure both before and after hours.

 

Miss True looked like a Neanderthal cave woman, complete with a set of lavishly growing, curly underarm hair, which, according to Miss True’s very own whispered confession to Jane one day at work, was an extremely effective mechanism to attract men and make them go absolutely bonkers in bed (not that Jane knew anything about bed manners this early in the story).  So wherever Strange was, True could invariably be found. When True made the decision to be a surrogate, Strange was there for the delivery nine months later, a proud Lamaze coach, although according to the rumor mill Mrs. Strange had to pant and breathe through each of her six deliveries alone. After the birth, True became a psychotic bitch, threatening to dismiss all and sundry who dared look at her. Strange, the attentive gentleman, transformed into a one man Hazmat team, spraying evil germs (and looks) with disinfectant and putting out smoldering fires like a dedicated game warden.

 

Jane, for a brief moment (perhaps a minute in length) imagined Mr. Strange and Miss True in bed, and came to the conclusion that the only way the act in itself could be justified, is if Mr. Strange had some kind of hair fetish and tried to console the fact that he didn’t have any hair on his head with rubbing said large, bald object under each of Miss True’s hairy armpits! The mere idea was abhorrent to Jane; in fact it made her slightly queasy. She also wondered how much or how little Mrs. Strange knew. Did she blindly trust her husband or was she used to his cheating ways? Didn’t she care enough or had she fallen out of love with the man she surely must’ve loved at some point in time? These burning issues and questions of love and how it worked intrigued our heroine. All she could naively think of was to love with all her might, heart, body and soul, the one person who chose to love her back.

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