"I do mean it Momma, I always mean it," I said. Then Momma took out a tape measure and started to measure me. I don't know why she bothered. They were...always the same, bust- 42D waist- 37 hips- 40 I'd barely grown an inch since I was sixteen. "It's been a month since you had the baby and you still haven't lost any weight!" Momma said. She picked up a corset, it was light pink and trimmed with black lace, and helped me into it. She laced me tightly, so tight I could barely breathe. When I looked. He turned and screamed so loudly it rattled the Nixon photographs lining his wall..."Rosemary, shut that crying brat up! Daddy is working!" Then turning to me again he continued, "I tell ya, those two make my life a living Hell!" He then began guffawing at his so-called joke while slapping me on the back. That spot immediately began to burn like a ghost pepper enema.He continued cackling and said, "That was a good one. Wait until I tell Benny Hill!" Then he once again turned to scream, "What's. More

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