Only Trollops Book Cover Only Trollops Shave Above the Knee

This book is an anthology of mothers’ best advice. I wrote a chapter, and I do not profit from the sale of this book. 

Moms have a lot to say, and they’re not shy about letting it all out. The same women who breathe life into our limbs also smother us with their ominous, clever, and oh-so celebrated words—life lessons taught in the blink of an eye.

There are the extraordinary one-liners: When you get to be my age, you’ll understand. Because I said so, that’s why. And the hilarious side-pokers: Always wear clean underwear. Don’t eat yellow snow. Then there are those unusual “momisms” that totally mess with the offspring mind. This is especially true if you were told to only remove the fuzz from one-half of your legs when you were just thirteen years old.

Only Trollops Shave Above the Knee: The Crazy, Brilliant, and Unforgettable Lessons We’ve Learned from Our Mothers blends more than forty heart-warming, funny, and authentically told stories about the craziness of being reared and raised with the hard-hitting anecdotes that kept our mothers sane. Some of the tales will make you laugh; some will make you cry; and a few will leave you questioning how we ever survived our childhoods, let alone learn a few lessons. Although they may at times seem a little faulty, our mothers (and motherly figures) could drive like Andretti, cook like Julia Child, and shake someone up like an Italian mobster. We’ve survived and thrived, and never forgotten their enlightening words. We were listening after all.

Now sit up straight!

The Ball-Busting Career Woman

pink quotesSoaking the kitchen table in tears on my first few hours back home from getting kicked out of college for possession of marijuana, I don’t think I could have possibly expressed the guilt in a manner worthy of expression. No matter how many times I recapped the story highlighting important, “it wasn’t exactly my fault’ moments, my father refused to find any understanding or pity for me.

Normally, the kitchen table lectures were reserved for him. That kitchen table was his biggest pulpit followed by the car. But for once, my mistake was so severe and expensive, he really had no words for me.

My mother was always the nurturer. If my father said no, my sister and I knew to ask mom. She never said No; instead, “We’ll see,” meant “probably not.” Love always hopes. But that’s why she never really lectured me. She wasn’t designed to criticize. She was designed to encourage, and many times, enable.

She calmed me down with her soothing, “I love you” voice, “Getting kicked out of college for marijuana is no big deal.” Just hearing those words gave me a chance to finally exhale and see the apocalyptic situation for what it was. A mistake. Then my mother continued, changing her voice into a voice of God, “HOWEVER! Getting pregnant while in college, now that’s a B-I-G deal.” It was her way of saying, “Things can always be worse,” and “make sure you don’t forget to take your birth control pill and try not to be a whore.”

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