Stripping Like Nobody's Business

I asked my father how I could survive my guilt. He thought I was talking about stripping and said it was nobody's business. I thanked him for the title. He never knew my secret was saving him from killing my mother. It's a complicated story; Half horror, half humor. It's about a mother with no conscience and a stripper with too much. The big question is how I survived and the answer is 'just barely'. Readers won't want to let this book go; they will revisit this hard luck story again...
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I asked my father how I could survive my guilt. He thought I was talking about stripping and said it was nobody's business. I thanked him for the title. He never knew my secret was saving him from killing my mother. It's a complicated story; Half horror, half humor. It's about a mother with no conscience and a stripper with too much. The big question is how I survived and the answer is 'just barely'. Readers won't want to let this book go; they will revisit this hard luck story again to enjoy the hidden humor, which is more than just strip-tease. Five decades are covered in three very different acts because of the diversity of experiences, none for the faint of heart or grand-babies. Act one starts in the 1960's with an honest coming of age story including Jell-O, rape and murder. The childhood stories resemble Huck Finn's if Mark Twain had been dirtier. My mother creates a perfect picture of martyrdom. And my guilt starts here even before I start stripping. Act two is in three parts. Nothing is made up, except the dancers. A Methodist volunteer picks out my first strip outfit for me even though I can't walk without crutches. Dressing room drama spares no dirty details in the first part from table to towel dances. Then parts two and three are pure entertainment anecdotes straight from strip clubs. Act three rollicks through four failed marriages and failing to find conditional love in strip clubs. I enjoy the Velvet Revolution in Prague, and have wild fun in Las Vegas and Alaska. This story ends when the towers crashed in 2001. I have another manuscript about the strange but probably predictable way my mother lived. I figure out what her problem was when I turned fifty. Then continued to be a victim and martyr for the rich and elderly until discovering happiness living in my car and leaving a small carbon footprint. Bambiallover@yahoo.com