Every summer I take a Weight Watchers cookbook and beat myself over the head with it.

Why, I groan, didn’t I exercise all year? Then at least I could be half as buff as my cousin, a former track star. When that gal drops her towel at the beach, nobody ever runs off screaming. (Read the rest of “Use the Force, Ellie Mae”)

My neighbor Thelma and I were chatting over my gazanias when a station wagon careened into the cul-de-sac. It did a 180 and screeched to a halt, blocking off the entrance.

The doors flew open and two little girls in uniform and their mother shot out.

The girls headed in opposite directions for the houses on either side of the street. The mother stood her ground as another car bore down on her. (Read the rest of “The Bell Tolls for 90 Days, Same as Cash”)