A short story by Susanna Solomon

At seventeen, Christy St. Claire had been a virgin long enough. All of her friends had made it with guys, but she hadn’t, no, not yet. Having a boyfriend was a big deal for her, but that wasn’t the point, not really. It was this goddamn virginity, and it was in her way. It was time she joined the club.

Roberta Ann had told her she really wasn’t a woman until she’d lost it. Maybeth, in her history class, had lost hers in the back seat of a 1954 convertible, out…

She fumbled in her purse for a tissue to wipe her son’s nose. Before she could find it he sneezed again, sending a glob of snot down the front of his freshly ironed shirt. She sighed. So much for first impressions.

“Mommy, my nose is running,” he said.

“I know honey, hold on. Mommy is getting a tissue. NO! Don’t wipe it with your sleeve… oh hell. Where is that tissue?”

She felt her blood pressure rise as she continued to look for a tissue. Finally she settled on a shirt from…

“What you need is a vacation.”

Sixty-fifth Assistant glanced at his boss through the corner of his eye, sneaking a peek at the boss’s reaction to his suggestion. Noting with no small amount of relief that the boss was still sitting calmly behind his desk, he dared to add, “Perhaps somewhere near Capricus Prime or the Wormhole.”

“No, no, no!” The boss coughed, then spat a glob of what looked like tapioca pudding into a chrome receptacle designed expressly for the purpose of collecting just such disgusting things.

“My apologies, sir, I only–”

“Vacations are too intense,” the boss croaked.…