HE’S ALL GROWN UP now, though the stinker gene remains permanently embedded in his DNA. I’ve apologized to my sister-in-law who has to sleep like we did—with one eye open. “He didn’t get spanked half enough as a child,” I say. “I took the brunt of it, I’m afraid.”
She sighs, looking tired. I hand her membership applications for WHOA (she needs it) and the new group I’m starting, SOS, or Spouses of Stinkers. Because we all need each other. We sure do.