I suppose some of you might have already guessed that I’m not JK Rowling. I’m not Tom Cruise. I’m not a realtor in Vancouver named Stan Chong. I’m not any of the people that I claimed to be in previous entries. 
   My name is Sue Congrave and I’m a single mother in Victoria, British Columbia. I write as much as the short gaps in my day allow. I wanted to come out from behind the vary guises that I’ve written under in order to promote one of my favorite writers, MAC Farrant. I just finished reading her book The Breakdown So Far and I wanted to pass along the title. The book is brilliant. She’s amazing. The stories are sublimely superb. 
   After all the previous entries, you might be saying, “But Sue, how can I trust you ? You’ve lied to me over a dozen times about your identity, why should I trust you this time ?” To this I can only respond:  Good fiction doesn’t stand on the truth of my existence.  Read her.

Gratification Tricks Turned to Stone

   In their first shower together, he rubbed his head with shampoo and counter-rubbed his belly with soap. “I do this for a little bit of fun in the morning,” he said. She mirrored his actions and laughed when she couldn’t get her hands to work in counterclockwise directions. She reached out and held his foamy hands and they kissed with their wet, slippery faces. It wasn’t until she moved in with him three months later, that she realized he hadn’t been joking. With the last squeeze of toothpaste she set about brushing her teeth, when she saw his outline through the shower-curtain. She tried to convince herself that this was a cute quirk on his part. Over the following months, other “cute quirks” came underfoot. She found herself tripping on these moments, trying to laugh off his childlike ways, his collection of Star Wars figures in the closet, his humming of children songs and his running across the house for dinner. Perhaps he wants children, she thought to herself and her ovaries clanged like wedding bells. 
     After three years of marriage, nothing had changed. She grew weary of her husband whose collection of Star Wars toys was now under the bed. When she talked about the future, he changed the topic to the past. As time passed, he even seemed to look younger. 
     On her way home one day, musing through thoughts of ‘what if’, she saw a stone in the middle of the sidewalk. “You would make a better partner than my husband,” she thought and then she thought some more. The sidewalk and street were empty. She knelt down to pick up the stone and she put it in her purse. It was manlier than her husband, certainly more stoic.  The next morning, when her husband shouted out in pain from a flick of bacon grease from the frying pan and then cried, “Ow, ow, oww, owww, owwwww” , she thought, “That stone is a hundred times stronger than that boy of a man.” That evening, she went to see a movie with the stone. It wasn’t a movie that she liked but it was something she thought the stone would appreciate: No Country for Old Men. She paid for two and held the empty seat next to her against all contenders. She hated the movie but loved the challenge of the evening.
    Months later, on what was considered by one British psychologist the worst day of the year, she packed her things first thing in the morning, went to the airport and flew to a country in Europe where marriages with rocks were legally recognized.