Miss Judy

By Angie Brocker

Miss Judy limps into the storage facility I run, carefully cradling her bribe of freshly baked banana bread. Her husband, unaware of her stored second-hand treasures, likely wouldn’t care if he discovered her deception. Miss Judy is convinced otherwise.

“I’ll tell you what, God would thank me if I got rid of him,” she begins as I prepare to absorb her manic thirty-minute non-stop dialogue of the day. “That man worked in management, but he could never manage his own wife.” She proudly sets her newly purchased findings on display for me to admire and tells me I’m her best friend.