Needs, and: Bewitched

60 Pamela Crow Needs Aunt Evelyn leans across her third chablis to tell me about the ways of men. Her Lynnwood has strayed over the years, due to a certain lack of knowledge on her part. Did my Mama ever talk to me about such things? No, she thought not. Well, men, they are a different sort of animal altogether. Who knows why the good Lord made them that way—surely she did not know and thought no one did. The point is— and as a social worker I might know more about this than she ever wül—but the point is that men have needs. Needs that must be fiUed on a regular basis. And if you don't do it you may just get a knock on your door from a woman with runs in her hose and a bad home perm teUing you that she gives it better than you ever did or could hope to and you had better face the cold facts. Your world could crumble too, before you figured it out, wishing like hell someone would have told you. 61 Bewitched Still damp from my bath knees tucked under my nightgown Mom said one more show before bed. My favorite was the one about the witch. Poor Samantha, she wanted so much to be a simple wife to Darrin. She tried to fix his food the mortal way. She sighed for the ordinary life the way some girls longed for patent leather Mary Janes or knees that didn't bulge funny. Sometimes Mom watched too. She didn't laugh. She'd stare at the screen whUe she ironed, pressing down hard. Smoke from her cigarette floated past me in the dark bedroom. Samantha had powers she was born with, couldn't help knowing she could turn Darrin into a turnip if she wanted to. Why didn't she want to? Mostly Dad wouldn't be home. He would have made us watch Password, where everyone was Uke Darrin, and Mom would read in the other room. Samantha used her magic to save the day, to make it aU work out. I would wait for her to be forgiven by bedtime, and Mom would tuck me in, strong hands soft on mine pale face golden in the lamp Ught. ...