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A Letter from the Secluded Sisters of the Missouri Valley
It’s been an exciting summer for everyone here at the Secret Sisters of the Missouri Valley. Despite all the high heat, this has been a great growing season for us. Generally, we just have enough for ourselves and the produce boxes we sell, but this year we even had enough to set up a stand at some farmers markets and even outside of some baseball games. And if teens start throwing corn at the opposing players again, I don’t really see how that’s our fault. In the Godfather, nobody goes to the piano wire store and asks them if they are a bunch of fucking idiots. Maybe this isn’t a very convincing justification, but most of these parking lots are gravel. If anything, these parents should be glad that these dumb teens are so busy supporting local farmers that they don’t look down and realize there’s a more aerodynamic and inexpensive option right below their feet.
Speaking of which, we were finally able to join the West Iowa Church Softball league. Apparently, all we had to do to lift the ban was pretend to be someone else. We called ourselves The Bridge because we thought that sounded like the kind of church that has a band who wear matching t-shirts.
Unfortunately, we only made it through four games before we were found out. A woman from some Woodbine church came up to us before a game asking about our address. These jerks try to “visit all of the churches in the softball league to build a sense of community.” I tried to scare her off by bragging about how inclusive and progressive we are, but it turns out that she is some hippie lesbian baker; the perfect friend. I never thought I’d be so upset to meet someone with a pet named Cat Blanchett. She even asked if we wanted to share a joint before the game. (I’m aware of our reputation, but we only smoked the amount of pot needed to actually enjoy slow pitch softball.) Thinking we were in the clear, we came clean about our fake name and let her know when she could visit. She reported us the next day. Obviously, I should have known better. Maybe if I hadn’t re-gifted the “Don’t Trust Hippies” throw pillow my mom got me for Christmas, I wouldn’t have made this mistake.
If anything, it’s their loss. I mean, who else will so consistently A) lose and B) be totally chill about it?
Speaking of firsts, this summer was also our first time taking on a temporary resident. Sharon’s sister knew someone from South Iowa who needed a place to stay for the summer before starting Creighton in the fall. Our understanding is that her parents kicked her out of the house when she came out. Ironically, I imagine a homophobe’s worst case scenario for their daughter is that she moves into a house full of strange ladies in the woods. Though conversely, I don’t imagine many teens’ best case scenarios are farming and making hammocks.** No matter whose nightmare it is, we’ve been really happy to have her.
For her protection, we aren’t going to say too many specifics about her and will refer to her as XXXXXXX.
XXXXXXX started another new tradition for us, this summer: Midnight Chess club. At first, this was a little bit of a controversial idea. We were split down the middle into two groups, those who are phenomenally lame and those who are not. Eventually, us lame-os won the fight by just doing it anyway and bringing all of the snacks and wine in the house with us. Alex tried to fight back by coming outside and smoking, but we called their bluff. If they can’t have tea after dinner without staying up all night, we knew they couldn’t have a cigarette at midnight for more than a couple sleepless nights before they broke down. Maybe it might have worked if they were a pack-a-day smoker or something, but we all know that those cigarettes are just for when they go through a particularly harsh horniness crisis.
Naturally, we kept XXXXXXX away from any cigarettes. Chess wine is one thing (we’d rather her learn about it in the house than with those freaks at Creighton) but exposing her to second hand smoke really seemed like being bad role models.
As always, please come by and visit any time. We look forward to seeing you at the harvest festival and wish you all the best.
** In proofreading, XXXXXXX did show me some stuff on TikTok and apparently this is a surprising amount of teens’ best case scenario.
Speaking of which, we were finally able to join the West Iowa Church Softball league. Apparently, all we had to do to lift the ban was pretend to be someone else. We called ourselves The Bridge because we thought that sounded like the kind of church that has a band who wear matching t-shirts.
Unfortunately, we only made it through four games before we were found out. A woman from some Woodbine church came up to us before a game asking about our address. These jerks try to “visit all of the churches in the softball league to build a sense of community.” I tried to scare her off by bragging about how inclusive and progressive we are, but it turns out that she is some hippie lesbian baker; the perfect friend. I never thought I’d be so upset to meet someone with a pet named Cat Blanchett. She even asked if we wanted to share a joint before the game. (I’m aware of our reputation, but we only smoked the amount of pot needed to actually enjoy slow pitch softball.) Thinking we were in the clear, we came clean about our fake name and let her know when she could visit. She reported us the next day. Obviously, I should have known better. Maybe if I hadn’t re-gifted the “Don’t Trust Hippies” throw pillow my mom got me for Christmas, I wouldn’t have made this mistake.
If anything, it’s their loss. I mean, who else will so consistently A) lose and B) be totally chill about it?
Speaking of firsts, this summer was also our first time taking on a temporary resident. Sharon’s sister knew someone from South Iowa who needed a place to stay for the summer before starting Creighton in the fall. Our understanding is that her parents kicked her out of the house when she came out. Ironically, I imagine a homophobe’s worst case scenario for their daughter is that she moves into a house full of strange ladies in the woods. Though conversely, I don’t imagine many teens’ best case scenarios are farming and making hammocks.** No matter whose nightmare it is, we’ve been really happy to have her.
For her protection, we aren’t going to say too many specifics about her and will refer to her as XXXXXXX.
XXXXXXX started another new tradition for us, this summer: Midnight Chess club. At first, this was a little bit of a controversial idea. We were split down the middle into two groups, those who are phenomenally lame and those who are not. Eventually, us lame-os won the fight by just doing it anyway and bringing all of the snacks and wine in the house with us. Alex tried to fight back by coming outside and smoking, but we called their bluff. If they can’t have tea after dinner without staying up all night, we knew they couldn’t have a cigarette at midnight for more than a couple sleepless nights before they broke down. Maybe it might have worked if they were a pack-a-day smoker or something, but we all know that those cigarettes are just for when they go through a particularly harsh horniness crisis.
Naturally, we kept XXXXXXX away from any cigarettes. Chess wine is one thing (we’d rather her learn about it in the house than with those freaks at Creighton) but exposing her to second hand smoke really seemed like being bad role models.
As always, please come by and visit any time. We look forward to seeing you at the harvest festival and wish you all the best.
** In proofreading, XXXXXXX did show me some stuff on TikTok and apparently this is a surprising amount of teens’ best case scenario.
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