Queen of Babble Read Online Free PDF Page B

landing.
    “Your sisters,” Shari grumbles in my ear, “have the worst cases of sibling envy I have ever seen in my life. I can’t believe how much they resent you because you, unlike them, did not become impregnated by a bohunk your sophomore year and have to drop out and stay home all day with drooling sprog.”
    “Shari!” I am shocked by this assessment of my sisters’ lives. Even if it is, technically, accurate.
    “All college gwaduates,” Rose continues, apparently unaware that she’s using baby talk while speaking to adults, “have to shing!”
    “Rose,” I say. “No. Really. Maybe later. I’m not in the mood.”
    “All college graduates,” Rose repeats, this time with dangerously narrowed eyes, “have tosing !”
    “In that case,” I say, “you’re going to have to count me out.”
    And then I turn to face thirty dumbfounded expressions.
    And realize what I’ve just let slip.
    “Kidding,” I say quickly.
    And everyone laughs. Except for Grandma, who’s just come in from the den.
    “Sully’s not even in this episode,” she announces. “Goddammit. Who’s going to get an old lady a drink?”
    Then she topples over onto the carpet and lets out a gentle snore.
    “I love that woman,” Shari says to me as everyone rushes forward to attempt to revive my grandmother, completely forgetting about Shari and me.
    “So do I,” I say. “You have no idea how much.”

    The ancient Egyptians, who invented both toilet paper and the first known form of birth control (lemon rind as cervical cap, plus alligator dung, which made an effective, if pungent, spermicide), were extremely hygienic, preferring fine linen to any other material, as it was easily washable—a not entirely surprising attitude, considering the alligator dung.
    History of Fashion
    SENIOR THESIS BY ELIZABETH NICHOLS
    3
    Anyone who has obeyed nature by transmitting a piece of gossip experiences the explosive relief that accompanies the satisfying of a primary need.
    —Primo Levi (1919–1987), Italian chemist and author Ithought that was you!” Andrew gushes in that cute accent that had all the girls in McCracken Hall swooning—even if histh ’s do sound likef ’s. “What’s the matter? You walked right past me!”
    “She thought you were a kidnapper,” the guy from the Meet Your Party booth explains between guffaws.
    “Kidnapper?” Andrew looks from the guy in the booth to me. “What’s he talking about?”
    “Nothing,” I say, grabbing Andrew’s arm and rushing him away from the booth. “Nothing, really. Oh my gosh! It’s good to see you!”
    “Good to see you, too,” Andrew says, putting an arm around my waist and giving me a hug—so tight that the epaulets from his jacket dig into my cheek. “You look fucking fantastic! Did you lose weight or something?”
    “Just a little,” I say modestly. No need for Andrew to know that no starch whatsoever—not so much as a French fry or even a lousy crumb of bread—has touched my lips since he waved good-bye to me last May.
    Then Andrew notices me looking at an older bald man who has come up to us and is smiling politely at me. He is wearing a navy-blue windbreaker and a pair of brown corduroy pants. In August.
    This is not a good sign. I’m just saying.
    “Oh, right!” Andrew cries. “Liz, this is my dad. Dad, this is Liz!”
    Oh, how sweet! He brought his dad to meet me at the airport! Andrew really MUST be taking our relationship seriously if he would go to so much trouble. I’ve already forgiven him for the jacket.
    Well, almost.
    “How do you do, Mr. Marshall?” I say, putting out my hand to shake his. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
    “Nice to meet you, too,” Andrew’s father says with a nice smile. “And please, call me Arthur. Don’t mind me, I’m just the chauffeur.”

    Andrew laughs. So do I. Except—Andrew doesn’t have his own car?
    Oh, but wait, that’s right. Shari said things are different in Europe, that lots of people don’t own