It’s Happy Launch Day!
Each work most of we authors write is our baby and today, mine is out in the big wide world. It's laugh out loud funny, packed with emotion, a frustrating relationship with a to-die for hero, and a wacky cast of family and friends.
Here's an excerpt:
Trixie had some nerve.
“Stop it, Hattie!”
Her reprimand, the one which had shot a stabbing pain to my right eye, sounded terribly out of character, like she had little patience for me. Ordinarily, she was the nicest person I knew, didn’t have a mean bone in her body. The kind who rescued animals, picked up trash at Sommerville Park, and prepared food for the elderly.
Not today. I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms across my chest in a school girl flaunt.
Trixie tilted forward in her desk chair, her bosom almost resting on her desk. “This nonsense has to end. Your moan sounded like an obscure breed of a bizarre...untamed...wounded animal.” She returned to an upright and seated position and in tiny increments, rotated her chair from side-to-side, waiting for me to say something not stupid.
In truth, Trixie had pounded the nail on the head. I had nothing to add. My whole life had turned into an obscure, bizarre, bad reflection of itself, thus wounding me to my core. I sighed and pouted an if only.
Don’t go there.
My funsister friend owned the employment agency Jobs Inc., and on occasion, she’d happily assisted me in finding temporary work since my dream job had been flushed down the proverbial toilet a few months back, thus soiling my picture perfect life. For this newest assignment she’d located, I’d be employed as an administrative assistant for the managing partner at Northside, Lancaster, and Brookside, Certified Public Accountants, headquartered in my hometown of Sommerville.
At first, she’d sounded oh-so pleasant when we began our yak about the opportunity. “Think accounting,” she’d teased, followed by a small chuckle.
Her laugh had spoken volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica proportions.
Let's get to know Stewart Steems, Hattie's new co-worker: His legs were kinda knobby in knee socks. What could be underneath? He was sorta on the thin side. So maybe, they were skinny? However, if he wanted to meet girls, his geeky socks had to go. “Stuart, the look you’re sporting is from the fifties. I’m telling you girls don’t go for guys wearing socks with sandals.”
Stuart scratched the side of his nose while considering what I’d said. “Okay.” He sat on the threshold step and took off the sandals, then the socks.
I leaned over to watch. He was right—Stuart had ugly legs. Ugly. Scrawny. Very gorilla-hairy legs. Yet firm calves. I shuddered. If his legs were like this, what…
Don’t go there. Don’t go there.
He’d placed on his shirt pocket a fill-in-the-blank “Hi! My Name Is” sticky nametag, inscribed with what appeared to be permanent blue-black ink in large capital letters, “STUART STEEMS.”
This pretty much confirmed what I’d been aware of all along: Stuart didn’t party.
Love to you all!!