Paperback
Hi. I’m Birdie Lawson.
I used to run the PTA, plan polite birthday parties, and write thank-you notes on monogrammed stationery. Then my husband dropped dead in the butterfly garden, and my picture-perfect life went with him.
If you, too, have a dead husband, questionable coping skills, and an inconvenient crush on your late husband’s hot ex-best friend who happens to be your mailman… pull up a chair. You’re one of us now.
The Dead Husbands Society
No dues. No dress code. Bring snacks. We’re tired of casserole.
Perks of membership:
Two wildly inappropriate widow friends, a pink glitter notebook full of grief dares (most dares include the hot mailman), and questionable recovery tactics.
Paperback
Hi. I’m Birdie Lawson.
I used to run the PTA, plan polite birthday parties, and write thank-you notes on monogrammed stationery. Then my husband dropped dead in the butterfly garden, and my picture-perfect life went with him.
If you, too, have a dead husband, questionable coping skills, and an inconvenient crush on your late husband’s hot ex-best friend who happens to be your mailman… pull up a chair. You’re one of us now.
The Dead Husbands Society
No dues. No dress code. Bring snacks. We’re tired of casserole.
Perks of membership:
Two wildly inappropriate widow friends, a pink glitter notebook full of grief dares (most dares include the hot mailman), and questionable recovery tactics.
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