The Sunday Writing Prompt over at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie is Reasons for Admission. We are to choose one or more of the “afflictions” listed above that qualified for Admissions to a Women’s Insane Asylum, 1864-1889. Ignore the circled item.
It all started when I got married and realized what a farce it was. Especially the sex part. My whole life I’d heard about how wonderful it was and how much I would enjoy it. Either everybody was wrong, or my husband was hopelessly inept. The poor slob had zero eye-hand coordination and couldn’t find his own butt with a road map.
Do I know how to pick ’em, or what?
I learned quickly that if one wants something done properly, one must do it one’s self. So I did. A lot. Afterward, I’d roll myself a nice, fat cigarette and light up. The two kind of go hand in hand—pardon the pun.
Well, wouldn’t you just know that I’d get caught in the act? Both of them.
And that dear friends, is what landed me here in this charming asylum.
Ergo, the Ogre 
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