Heidi Bianca always said she had a saint in her pocket. St. Catherine, Sainte of the miraculous, she said. I don’t think a soul doubted her. She had the best clothes I ever saw and she dated the cutest guys. She got great grades in school and won four spelling bees! She grew up to be a model for those War Bond posters they hung in all the stores and at the post office. Head tilted, deep dimples winking, she likely spawned the word ‘perky.’
I always wanted a saint, too. I actually needed one. I tried to get a Rosie the Riveter job and ended up swabbing toilets and keeping up with urinal cakes. I wanted to be a WAC but my flat feet and bad eyes got me rejected. Trying to be sociable, I smiled at all the GIs and sailors when they were in town but my overbite always turned them off.
Heidi in the meantime toured the nation doing exceptional deeds and eating out every night in fine restaurants.
Necessity really is the mother of invention. I invented St. Reginald, Saint of revenge. Prayed every dang night to him. And it worked. My boobs grew bigger, my smile got straighter and boys began to take me out on dates and buy me nylons. My mother said it was simply time but I don’t think so.
Best part? Heidi got pregnant and they sent her back home in disgrace.
Go, St. Reginald!