“You do one, Charlie,” June said, encouraging her husband.
Charlie smiled lovingly at his wife, then went for it. “I’ve got two,” he announced. “Snails breathe through their feet, and animals that lay eggs don’t have belly buttons.”
June applauded. Charlie gave her a kiss.
“Interesting,” Shitty Ritchie said, checking for his belly button. It was there. “Speaking of animals, the male praying mantis cannot fornicate while its head is attached to his body. Thankfully, the female praying mantis performs the act of foreplay by ripping the male’s head off before copulating to ensure more males are born to be decapitated for carnal pleasure.”
“Holy hell, not sure the word thankfully belonged in that fuckin’ sentence,” Candy Vargo said with a gag.
Heather couldn’t stop herself. “Oh my god, was that pun intended or by accident?”
Candy Vargo thought about it for a hot sec then grinned. “Accident… because I’m fuckin’ brilliant! Anyhoo, I can top Shitty Ritchie and ruin everyone’s day or lives depending on how addicted you are to flavored coffees.” She walked over to where Jennifer lay and patted our still comatose friend on the head. “In honor of Jennifer, I would like to inform the posse that if you’ve ever had something vanilla flavored, it’s probably got fuckin’ castoreum in it—a food additive made from the anal secretions of a god dang beaver.”
My chin dropped to my chest, and I wanted to scream. Iced vanilla lattes were now out of my life. Shit. If we were going there, fine. I was going. “Alrighty then,” I chimed in. “The first body part every human embryo develops is the anus. Yesssss, all of you started out as a butthole!”
“And some of you are still buttholes,” Candy commented, giving Shitty Ritchie a sideways glance. “And if we’re going south—so to speak—the scent of doughnuts can cause boners.”
“CORRECT! I can confirm that,” Shitty Ritchie overshared. “And speaking of anus’…”
“Crap,” I said with a groan. “I started this.”
“One hundred percent, sister,” Heather agreed.
Shitty Ritchie kept going and going and going. Little dude was the energizer bunny of profanity and foul facts. “There are professional fart sniffers! They’re tasked with diagnosing illnesses base on the aroma of the air shart! Also known as a sphincter cough, or a chocolate air freshener, or an airborne toxic event.”
“Oh yeah?” Candy Vargo shouted, clearly determined to stop the fart thesaurus. “Welp, porcupines signal they want to do the beast with two backs by peeing on each other.”
“None of those are good visuals,” Alana Catherine stated the obvious. “I don’t have a bunch to add since I’m new to the whole adulting thing, but I do know a few skunk facts.”
“Let’s hear ‘em, girlie!” Gram said, doing a few flips in the air.
“Skunks, besides being cuties, are immune to rattlesnake venom, and they’ll eat venomous snakes as well as bees and scorpions,” she explained as ten of her pet ghost skunks gathered at her feet and stared up at her adoringly.
“My girlie is brilliant!” Gram announced as she and Mr. Jackson waltzed through the air.
“I got one,” a raspy voice volunteered from the bed.
Tim shrieked and began to sob. He hugged his daughter and continued to wail. No one else screamed, but everyone’s eyes were suspiciously watery. Gideon, Zander and Catriona raced back in to see what had happened.
A miracle had happened. Our motto was forefront in my brain. Anything was possible. One just had to believe.
Candy Vargo was all business. Charlie was right next to her. They examined Jennifer from head to toe. When they were satisfied, Candy stepped back and handed out toothpicks. Everyone partook. It was a celebration. Tim gently helped Jennifer to a sitting position. His eyes had not left her face.
“Did I dream the DNA results? Are you my pappy?” she asked.
“You didn’t dream it.” Tim’s smile was gentle and full of love. “And I’m so proud to be your pappy.”
She smiled back at her newly discovered dad and squeezed his hand. “Crazy world, huh?” she whispered.
“Crazy beautiful world,” Tim replied.
Looking down at the mail uniform she was sporting, Jennifer grinned. It wasn’t her style at all, but I knew she was going to wear it with pride. “Is that wine I see on the coffee table?”
“It is!” I sprinted across the room to get her a glass. “Red or white?”
“White,” Jennifer said. “Red reminds me of blood. Seen enough of that lately to last me a while.”
I handed her a glass, and she took a healthy swig. “Delicious. Now, could someone confirm or deny that Tom Hanks tried to murder me? That just seems all kinds of wrong. I mean, why in the Devil’s ass crack would Forrest Gump wanna off me?”
