Friday, November 22, 2013
But he’s a writer, a writer of the mundane and frivolous. And when he’s in the middle of one of his monotonous books, telling of the desperate plights of alligators, snakes and seagulls, he forgets she exists at all. Currently he’s in the middle of some diatribe about…well, she doesn’t really know, because she’d long ago given up feigning interest in his work. As a matter of fact, she’s nearly spiteful of his fascination with nature and wildlife. It’s not the single issue that’s separated them for the past year, no, the bartendress, the lack of intimacy; the total discount of her presence whatsoever has brought to her to point of desperation.
So when her best friend shows up by her pool on a Tuesday wearing a bikini the likes of which she couldn’t knit a coaster out of, Tara decides that it may be time to take matters into her own hands. And BFF Patty has a plan, a plan that changed her own marriage, which not too long ago was even past the point of desperation. It’d gone to the Divorce attorney’s. But when Patty explains the intricacies of how she saved her marriage, Tara finds herself on a path straight to hell in a hand-basket. At least that’s the way she considers it. Because you see, Tara is a woman of religion. Morality has been physically and emotionally forced into her being by years of Catholic rulers and paddles. It’s just the way she is, guilt rides her like an unruly cowboy and is the only constant voice in her head.
That is until her long lost friend Vagina begins speaking to her again. And Vagina is fascinated by Patty’s proposal to join The Tramp Stamp Club. She adores Patty’s new tattoo and is green, gooey, and sticky with envy. Fueled by Vagina, and her mute twin Clitoris, Tara is forced into action. Her first meeting with the billionaire shipping company owner, Jonathon Galloway, is enough to drive all pure thoughts from her head. At least for the short time she’s with him in his upstairs office. For that small amount of time, she feels free, without guilt and without thoughts of her husband Simmons. But Jonathon has made her a promise, a guarantee, that if she goes through her ‘training’ at the hands of the Club, that Simmons will be at her beck and call.
It’s a path that’s already worked for BFF Patty. It’s proven and it’s her only viable plan to win back the love of her life. Already consumed by guilt for the hour spent with the mystical Jonathon, she heads to Church. After all, where else would she go? But something happens on her drive home that presents a more reasonable answer to her confusing thoughts and needs. After being convinced that this is nothing more than a mid-life crisis she heads to her husband’s computer to search for plastic surgeons. It’s the change she needs. But stacks of manuscripts tumble from his desk and one of them is titled, The Tramp Stamp Club.
As she reads the words, she’s transported to another era, one that sends her straight into the arms of their Club. As each of their ‘lessons’ progress, Tara finds herself more and more enlightened. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? But the guilt melts slower than the Titanic’s glacier and Tara finds herself battling good and evil within her own body. It’s only after meeting the other ladies of the Tramp Stamp Club that she begins to get the picture. She can bake for the Church Bazaar and have a sensual and happy life to boot. It’s a novel concept of course, and Goody Two Shoes and her Guilt Wagon stay close by to issue their opinions. But Vagina and her twin aren’t innocent bystanders either; they want what they want and can’t hear Goody’s nagging. Not that they’d be swayed by it anyway.
So Tara consents to Tramp Training and through each lesson Goody becomes less and less of a factor in her everyday life. What’s more is that Tara realizes, somewhere in the middle of a blindfold and an antique four poster bed, that Goody has to go. The transformation of her soul is in the hands of Jonathon Galloway and his promise to reunite her with her husband. The question is, will she still want the illustrious naturalist when all is said and done?