4th of July 1953: Marge Six

Dear Lou,

Today I went to the 4th of July hoedown at [One]’s house, where we all celebrated our hard-won freedom from those damned limeys! All of us, except that poor sucker Jake [Five], he still is under British rule. Frankly, I think he’s man enough to free Australia all on his own. But he says he’s a loyal subject of the Crown and proud to be a member of the Commonwealth. To each his own, I reckon. Though I also reckon the rest of us were under our new Queen Elizabeth, in any case.

I wore this pretty pink frilly swimming costume that I just bought. God, I hated it. It bogged me down. I’m sure that’s why Kath was able to beat me when we competed to see who could swim the fastest.

I was chewing the fat with Diane and I told her some of the little ladies who stayed at my ranch would have loved their husbands to meet her husband, so they could skip the divorce process altogether. And she sighed and said she was the one who told me that joke months ago.

Look, it was a good joke worth sharing, and obviously she ain’t pressed about folks thinking her husband killed his boss. It was clearly a suicide, the cops ruled it a suicide ages ago. And she’s done her share of gallows humor over it. She’s always talking about what an awful fellow that Dean Pettyson was; a demanding boss who always said Diane looks like a touter outside a Hawaiian taxi dance hall. (Which she does, let’s face it). She’s glad he’s dead, just like my girls wish their husbands were dead. She said she wished she were still stoned, and I pointed at the rum and coke in her hand, and she said a different kind of stoned and rolled her eyes. Odd woman.

But what was really interesting was what Dr. Engelbert said. I’ve introduced him to you, he’s the Hun scientist who lives across the street from Betty. We were in the basement hiding out from the rain when he announced he was going to run an all-female, self-improvement seminar out in Deep Creek Lake. Which sounds like what I was running in Reno. I signed up because I know he’s going to need someone who’s actually responsible to run things. Diane might think she can run it, but we ain’t clowns and a carny. And I know Kath thinks she’s a great outdoorsman, but she ain’t got any emotional intelligence. She don’t reckon Betty is trying to seduce her husband from under her nose and actually thinks Betty is complimenting her whenever she gets in her catty little insults! Obviously, I need to be in charge.

Plus, I will get to be around all those lovely ladies without Sissy stopping by because she ‘just happened to forget something in the parlor.’ Those fillies will be drawn to my masculine presence the eunuch Johan is clearly short on. I especially hope to get to know Betty and Rose.

Now, I know you think I have a crush on Kath because I’m always yapping about her, but I don’t. She is like “Tintin” from the comic books to me, completely sexless. You know I’ve never played with butch/butch. If all the femmes left the bar, I’m going home alone with a good book. I am not a desperate faggot. Not even my lavender marriage has convinced me butch/butch is worth it, Sissy is practically a femme. Funny thing is, I think the [Five]s are in a lavender marriage and they don’t know it, the poor saps. Unfortunately, I’m going to be spending a lot of time with her next month.

We missed out on seeing Polly’s clown show, but Barb and Franny tell me it was a hoot and a holler. Polly made fun of the Hun doctor and our hostess! I sure wish Betty was there to see it, but she was angry enough that her Ray-Ray was Polly’s assistant. Polly also did a magic act for the kids. I’ve only seen magic done in nightclubs. Imagine that, magic for kiddies!

I told Sissy that with me gone she can hang out with Polly, and she told me they don’t get along. I don’t see why they can’t get along, they’re both pansies; not like they’re going to fag-bash each other. But she says it’s like me and Kath. I don’t know what she is talking about.

For dinner, we had fried chicken, Virginia ham, and BBQ brisket! Betty admitted the fried chicken was all her colored servant, Belulah’s thing. Now, Belulah is the size of a Leviathan. In fact, that’s her nickname. I think when she takes off her maid dress and puts on her own clothes she’s one of us.

I also suspect something similar with our colored maid, Lulu^[1], but in a different direction. But Sissy is too busy asking her questions about her previous job as maid in a New Orleans brothel, and I know if a lady has a secret, you just have to let it come out in its own due time.

But I’m getting distracted. Betty’s chiffon cake was yummy. Say what you will about her, she is a mighty fine baker.

After dinner, when it got dark enough to see the stars and the waning crescent moon, Betty was going to do a gun show. Now, you know I love guns, but her gun shows are so depressing. She starts off telling us about how her sister got turned into a werewolf and a week later she had to shoot her and that’s why we should be ever vigilant against the Soviet threat.

Look, sure werewolves are a menace. We know that in Colorado. But by 1929, all the werewolves that the Ruskies sent over during their Civil War were dead. We killed all those bastards. Besides which, it made sense to tell this story on Easter when it happened, but can we leave the 4th of July free of werewolf sob stories?

So, I brought out the fireworks. She was hollering that my fireworks are dangerous and illegal. And I shot back they ain’t illegal. And she declared they would be illegal in the future if her husband has anything to do with it. And I pointed out didn’t he get voted out? She whined that ain’t the point, fireworks are dangerous. I said, so are guns, but we still have a right to bear arms. She said we have a right to bear arms if we are using them to defend ourselves against tyranny and fireworks are just childish amusement. And I said we have a right to bear anything we want, even a nuclear bomb! I really didn’t mean it, I was just heated.

So I set off the fireworks and the folks enjoyed that more than Betty’s gun show. They all told me that. I’d still love to get Betty in bed. Maybe she’d calm down if she nutted once in a while.

This is a wild bunch I have been stuck with in this here cul de sac, but I look forward to seeing them all on this trip to Deep Creek Lake. I am getting my own Pursuit of Happiness on.

Sissy ain’t happy about it, even though I told her she can wear dresses around the house without me bringing guests over. I can wear pants again, since that’s more convenient! Oh, how I have missed me some pants. I will tell you all about it when I come back.

Love,
Large Marge