Bless their lyin', cheatin' hearts, Bad Girls are everywhere.
There are some pretty good essays in this collection. From cussing to adultery, these gals seem to have covered the gamut of ways to be bad. (Alas, no one confesses to horse thievery or murder, but there seems to be an awful lot of lusting after clergymen among the female congregants.)
And speaking of confessing, leave it to Mary Roach to bring on the funny as she talks about going to confession in her younger days:
The trick was to find an appropriate generality for each sin, thereby sparing oneself the humiliation of fine detail. If the sin was, say, "I found a Girl Scout badge on the playground and sewed it onto my sash, even though I have not completed any of the requirements for the Hospitality Badge and I know that the badge belongs to Cindy Peters," the apt confession would be: "I was dishonest." Week after week I confessed the same three or four bland, amorphous sins, as did, I suspect, all my friends: "I was dishonest, I swore, I disobeyed my parents." No details were ever offered up. How dull it must have been for the parish priests. How much livelier their job had they gotten to hear little Mary Roach kneel down and confess that she'd called her brother a fucker or belched at the dinner table.
Another standout is a poignant essay shared by Katherine Weber about an illicit overnight climb with a male friend to the 99th floor of the still-under-construction World Trade Center:
Does he remember that night? Did he think of it as I did, in the days after September 11, 2001, when the news was filled with so many images of that stairwell? Does he recall it the same way, the night we stood so close together, gazing down at the city, the night our friendship or whatever it was culminated in that private, secret, triumphant ascent? The arduous, cold, and dark descent lay ahead of us, but for that moment, we had everything worked out, we knew so much, we had our lives ahead of us, and we were, it seemed, on top of the world.
I was always a Good Girl. I hated making the adults angry. The principal's office? I had no clue where it was as I certainly never saw the inside of it. I did what I was told AND what was expected of me. Then I hit 45, and things changed. I learned the word "No." It was suddenly okay to say it. "No." Sometimes even, "No!" No, I don't want to serve on that committee. No, I can't come to your party. And it worked. If my answer displeased some people, I honestly didn't care. Most women probably come to this realization a lot earlier in life than I did, and oh, they are certainly the lucky ones. It's your life, and freedom is one of the most magnificent feelings you will ever know.
So, go ahead. Feel free to cuss. Down a beer or two. Whistle at a construction worker. There's a world of Bad Girls out there who've got your back.