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Bills, I thought with disdain as I chucked them onto the kitchen counter, unopened, where they were usurped by a pile of other such bills. The ones without a return address looked especially ominous. As if to say: if we actually put our name on the envelope there’s not a freaking hope inhell you would dare to open it.
Just what, exactly, had I been expecting, I wondered. A letter from Ed McMahon saying that I’d won the million dollar jackpot? That was wishful thinking, if not full out delusional, especially in light of the fact that I hadn’t even entered the stupid sweepstake. But I digress. Anyways, the point is that the bills were really starting to stack up.
At first I was optimistic about it. I thought if I work hard, really hard, I can get rid of these bills. Slowly, one at a time. But it seemed like for every bill I paid off I got three more in the mail the very next day. It was like the damn things reproduced when I turned my back, though I know that strictly speaking that’s not really possible. And I was working as hard as I could, scrimping, saving, cutting coupons, living off of soup. And not even good soup, like beef barley, for example. The stuff I ate was bought by the caseload for five bucks. Generic cream of tomato and mushroom. Made with water, not milk.
But again I digress. I’m not telling you this to try to garner your sympathy. I don’t want your pity. What I do want is a little understanding. You see, I’m not normally the type of person to do this kind of thing. In fact, a year ago I would have been outraged at the mere moral reprehensibility of what I’m about to do, not to mention the practicalities of it. But then I was a different person a year ago. Engaged and just finishing my college degree, the world was full of opportunity. And then three months before the wedding is scheduled to go down, I find Prince Charming going down on my maid of honor. My maid of honor, no less! Would I have been happier if it were some stranger off the street? I don’t know. But the fact that it was my so called best friend just poured salt on the wound. Salt and hair spray and hydrochloric acid.
Needless to say, the wedding didn’t happen and I was left alone with a pile of bills and a taffeta dress that I paid a small fortune for while Prince Charming rides off into the sunset with Slutterella. Do I sound bitter? Sorry. I try not to be, but can you really blame me?
Anyways, I’m just saying that times were tough. And when this whole thing came up with Cynthia, it seemed like the perfect solution to both of our problems. But now I see it for it really was.
A deal with the devil.
Bills, I thought with disdain as I chucked them onto the kitchen counter, unopened, where they were usurped by a pile of other such bills. The ones without a return address looked especially ominous. As if to say: if we actually put our name on the envelope there’s not a freaking hope inhell you would dare to open it.
Just what, exactly, had I been expecting, I wondered. A letter from Ed McMahon saying that I’d won the million dollar jackpot? That was wishful thinking, if not full out delusional, especially in light of the fact that I hadn’t even entered the stupid sweepstake. But I digress. Anyways, the point is that the bills were really starting to stack up.
At first I was optimistic about it. I thought if I work hard, really hard, I can get rid of these bills. Slowly, one at a time. But it seemed like for every bill I paid off I got three more in the mail the very next day. It was like the damn things reproduced when I turned my back, though I know that strictly speaking that’s not really possible. And I was working as hard as I could, scrimping, saving, cutting coupons, living off of soup. And not even good soup, like beef barley, for example. The stuff I ate was bought by the caseload for five bucks. Generic cream of tomato and mushroom. Made with water, not milk.
But again I digress. I’m not telling you this to try to garner your sympathy. I don’t want your pity. What I do want is a little understanding. You see, I’m not normally the type of person to do this kind of thing. In fact, a year ago I would have been outraged at the mere moral reprehensibility of what I’m about to do, not to mention the practicalities of it. But then I was a different person a year ago. Engaged and just finishing my college degree, the world was full of opportunity. And then three months before the wedding is scheduled to go down, I find Prince Charming going down on my maid of honor. My maid of honor, no less! Would I have been happier if it were some stranger off the street? I don’t know. But the fact that it was my so called best friend just poured salt on the wound. Salt and hair spray and hydrochloric acid.
Needless to say, the wedding didn’t happen and I was left alone with a pile of bills and a taffeta dress that I paid a small fortune for while Prince Charming rides off into the sunset with Slutterella. Do I sound bitter? Sorry. I try not to be, but can you really blame me?
Anyways, I’m just saying that times were tough. And when this whole thing came up with Cynthia, it seemed like the perfect solution to both of our problems. But now I see it for it really was.
A deal with the devil.
4 comments:
MoreMoreMore!!! This is gonna be a good one, and it is not just cause i'm your mom!!! I like the idea and the writing is creative, funny and holds the interest of This reader, and I am willing to bet all others will agree!! Go Girl!!
WHO'S YOUR MOMMA! I'M YOUR MOMMA!
LOVE YO' MOMMA
You have kept me hanging!!! Love the book so far. I think " YOUR MOMMA " should be monitored on the computer.,haha.
Love Aunt Gail
Sorry Gail...you were right. I was speaking of another entry about bills so YES, this is Dini's book and not about her hahahaha!!! It's really good so far by the way.
Thank-you Lorre!!
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