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There are Millions of Them- With One Main Thing in Common. #shortstories #women @jumpouttheboat


 It's coming sooner than expected. The book of:

 Valerie
Living the Hell Outta Life...
There are millions of Valeries in the world & they all live one life.

A little girl who wants to be a super hero,
An elderly lady mourning the death of Amy Winehouse,
Friends willing to shoot each other for a chance at a fortune,  
and many others, join to share snaps into their lives through a collection of short treasures.
About females of all ages, race, and stations in life-
Each have one thing in common, their name is Valerie.


                                            VALERIE HAS A WIGGLE IN HER WALK

Valerie lives for the Saturday morning routine. with her husband of sixty years.

     Valerie gazed out of the window and smiled. She lived for Saturdays and loved watching him wash the car. He always took his shirt off- just for her, he would always say. Those other girls, the thin young ones who smiled, jumped effortlessly over the puddles of soapy water, while giving shy, little finger waves as they passed, had nothing on his Valerie.

His Valerie, he claimed to anyone who would listen, had a smile that shone so bright, it made the sun wish it had shades.
His Valerie had a glow to her porcelain skin and a wiggle in her walk that he adored. More than that, his Valerie liked to watch him as he washed the car.

She didn't care that his six-pack was now two packs short of stud or that his flat stomach had become a huge wrinkle that flopped over the top of his pants. She watched him with the hunger and adoration from their courting days. Sixty years of marriage had faded none of the lust or enthusiasm.
Valerie moved to stand squarely in the middle of the picture window, so he could see her. And he watched, her steps were slow, no longer able to run and jump into his arms when he strolled through the door.

His chest dripping water and his body smelling of the outdoors. An odor she said turned her on like nothing on earth. For years she would prove it for hours after the Saturday morning car wash.
Her skin was no longer smooth, nor a glide to ecstasy. Beauty and life, a life well lived was etched into her sweet face. Lines of love, strength, and the burden of knowing she never carried her own bundle of joy, were scored into the pale, nearly translucent flesh of her arms and hands.

But none of that mattered, he didn't care if she didn't remember what day it was - most days. Or that she rarely smiled at the things he said. He only knew, his Valerie came alive on Saturday mornings and the wiggle would be back in her walk, even if it were caused by the weakness in the metal and screws of her geriatric walker.

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