us in a voice filled with panic.
Paige and I completely ignore her instructions and quickly turn around at the same time.
The blood drains from my face and the noise from the bar suddenly disappears. Across the bar, right by the door, standing arm in arm with a gaggle of girlfriends, is Chloe with an e. I’m now even more appreciative of Paige and her decision to pretty me up before we left the gym. It’s bad enough that this bitch is thirteen years younger than me, but she also looks like Malibu Barbie with long, straight blonde hair, a spray tan, and fake boobs that are so high up on her chest she could rest her chin on them.
“Here, drink this,” Paige orders as she holds a shot glass full of amber liquid in front of me.
Without taking my eyes off Hussy the Home Wrecker, I grab the glass and down the shot, letting the fiery burn make its way down my throat and into my stomach. Handing the glass back to Paige, I demand another one and she puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles for the bartender.
“Someone needs to give that woman a cheeseburger. She looks like she hasn’t had a good, solid meal since birth,” Lorelei states as she gets up off her bar stool and links her arm through mine.
“She needs to be waterboarded with pasta and potatoes,” Paige agrees as she hands me another shot.
This one doesn’t burn as it goes down and I’m starting to feel a little better about the fact that I’m in a bar with my ex-husband’s mistress a few feet away and she looks like a porn star.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. Totally fine. No big deal,” I mutter to myself as another shot is placed into my hand.
“I think that’s enough shots,” Lorelei tells Paige as some of the alcohol misses my mouth when I tip the glass back and it dribbles down my chin.
“A little tequila is good for the soul,” Paige replies as she pulls a tissue out of her purse and wipes my chin.
The alcohol is starting to kick in and the liquid courage is flowing through my veins. Who cares if she looks like Pamela Anderson and is half my age? Who cares if she can put both her feet behind her head and is so skinny that when she turns sideways she disappears? Not me. I could kick her ass with no arms or legs. I could kick her ass with LORELEI’s arms and legs. I could kick her ass with my newly highlighted hair while swinging Lorelei’s arms and legs over my head.
I think I’m drunk.
“Maybe you should take her gun away from her,” I hear Lorelei mutter right next to me.
Just when I think my courage is off the charts, Harlot Barbie turns in my direction and we make eye contact. It could be the jukebox in the corner of the bar messing with me, or it could be the tequila, but I’m pretty sure I just heard the whistling tune of the gun-duel music that plays in old westerns.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as she smiles and starts walking in my direction. Barbie’s sidekicks, Skipper and Stacie, follow closely behind her until she stops a foot away from me and they both bump into her back, sending them all stumbling forward in a mess of blonde hair and fake boobs.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Paige mutters next to me.
“Kennedy! It’s so good to see you! These are my friends, Misty, with a y and Tiffanie with an ie ,” Chloe says brightly.
“My IQ just dropped a hundred points,” Lorelei whispers into my ear.
Suddenly, standing this close to the woman who stole my husband, I don’t feel so good about myself. I can actually feel the tequila churning in my stomach and my awesome hair that Paige styled wilting into an ugly mess.
“How have you been? I feel like we haven’t talked in ages,” Chloe says with a pout of her perfect collagen-injected, bright pink lips.
Is this bitch serious? She’s acting like we’re old friends and not like I walked into my home to find her deep-throating my husband on my couch. MY couch. The brown leather piece of perfection I got on sale before I left for Afghanistan. I had to bleach the
Paige and I completely ignore her instructions and quickly turn around at the same time.
The blood drains from my face and the noise from the bar suddenly disappears. Across the bar, right by the door, standing arm in arm with a gaggle of girlfriends, is Chloe with an e. I’m now even more appreciative of Paige and her decision to pretty me up before we left the gym. It’s bad enough that this bitch is thirteen years younger than me, but she also looks like Malibu Barbie with long, straight blonde hair, a spray tan, and fake boobs that are so high up on her chest she could rest her chin on them.
“Here, drink this,” Paige orders as she holds a shot glass full of amber liquid in front of me.
Without taking my eyes off Hussy the Home Wrecker, I grab the glass and down the shot, letting the fiery burn make its way down my throat and into my stomach. Handing the glass back to Paige, I demand another one and she puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles for the bartender.
“Someone needs to give that woman a cheeseburger. She looks like she hasn’t had a good, solid meal since birth,” Lorelei states as she gets up off her bar stool and links her arm through mine.
“She needs to be waterboarded with pasta and potatoes,” Paige agrees as she hands me another shot.
This one doesn’t burn as it goes down and I’m starting to feel a little better about the fact that I’m in a bar with my ex-husband’s mistress a few feet away and she looks like a porn star.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. Totally fine. No big deal,” I mutter to myself as another shot is placed into my hand.
“I think that’s enough shots,” Lorelei tells Paige as some of the alcohol misses my mouth when I tip the glass back and it dribbles down my chin.
“A little tequila is good for the soul,” Paige replies as she pulls a tissue out of her purse and wipes my chin.
The alcohol is starting to kick in and the liquid courage is flowing through my veins. Who cares if she looks like Pamela Anderson and is half my age? Who cares if she can put both her feet behind her head and is so skinny that when she turns sideways she disappears? Not me. I could kick her ass with no arms or legs. I could kick her ass with LORELEI’s arms and legs. I could kick her ass with my newly highlighted hair while swinging Lorelei’s arms and legs over my head.
I think I’m drunk.
“Maybe you should take her gun away from her,” I hear Lorelei mutter right next to me.
Just when I think my courage is off the charts, Harlot Barbie turns in my direction and we make eye contact. It could be the jukebox in the corner of the bar messing with me, or it could be the tequila, but I’m pretty sure I just heard the whistling tune of the gun-duel music that plays in old westerns.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as she smiles and starts walking in my direction. Barbie’s sidekicks, Skipper and Stacie, follow closely behind her until she stops a foot away from me and they both bump into her back, sending them all stumbling forward in a mess of blonde hair and fake boobs.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Paige mutters next to me.
“Kennedy! It’s so good to see you! These are my friends, Misty, with a y and Tiffanie with an ie ,” Chloe says brightly.
“My IQ just dropped a hundred points,” Lorelei whispers into my ear.
Suddenly, standing this close to the woman who stole my husband, I don’t feel so good about myself. I can actually feel the tequila churning in my stomach and my awesome hair that Paige styled wilting into an ugly mess.
“How have you been? I feel like we haven’t talked in ages,” Chloe says with a pout of her perfect collagen-injected, bright pink lips.
Is this bitch serious? She’s acting like we’re old friends and not like I walked into my home to find her deep-throating my husband on my couch. MY couch. The brown leather piece of perfection I got on sale before I left for Afghanistan. I had to bleach the
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