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Oh, and the oil—smells like sex and flowers. Slippery as a Lannister lie. I ask her, “What’s in this?” She says, “Secret.” Secret my arse—I bet it’s just posh lard. Still, I’m floatin’, mate. Floatin’. “What does it mean?” I mumble, like some twat from the movie. She don’t answer—just keeps rubbin’. Good enough for me.

Melody / Marianna Rae / May

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First off, Burnsville is not your typical boring suburb. Downtown Burnsville – yup, that central spot around Victors Way and maybe even a little fling with Burnsville Parkway – is our main hang. It’s got these cute cafes and shops where locals spill the ultimate gossip while sippin’ overpriced lattes. I often escape there on days when the spa’s stress level is through the roof. I swear, sometimes I can almost hear Cary’s sultry whispers from Carol: “I think it's very beautiful, what you do.” And I’m like, thanks, but my beautification game is on scrub and massage today.

Obituary | Bennie Faye Flesher of Burnsville, Minnesota