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133 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 18, 2012
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"Ratfink! I knew I should have sucked it up and gone, So what did he look like? A blond Adonis? Dark and handsome? Anything but Chinese?"
"Pagan is amazing. He's like a short Steve Buscemi."

Pagan Taupe leans suavely against a mouse cage, tilting it and forcing the mouse in the wheel to cling for dear life. He's wearing a crisp taupe suit, but the jacket is open, and my eyes drift to the T-shirt beneath. It reads: I LIKE MY WOMEN LIKE I LIKE MY COFFEE...GROUND UP AND IN THE FREEZER.
&
His gaze dips from my face to my collarbone, then lower. His eyes devour my body like I'm a sundae slathered in slut sauce.
&
When Pagan and I climb into the rickshaw he seems preoccupied, and withdrawn. finally he turns to me, and with solemn eyes he asks, "Penny for your thoughts?"
And then it just kind of bursts out of me. "I had a dream last night where we were both old and wearing matching kitten sweaters and sitting on a porch like the couple in the Country Time Lemonade commercials. It was really beautiful. And then your head just exploded. Like a pumpkin."
He stares at me a long time.
"I want my penny back."
&
I sigh and decide to start the day as I always do: by ignoring the five billion glaring warning signs that Pagan Taupe is not, and will never be, good husband material. But on an episode of Real Housewives I saw a woman that had a full pedicure salon in her house, and you don't get an in-house pedicure salon staffed with frightened Vietnamese chicks by nabbing an Applebee's assistant manager. The way I figure it, I'm slowly earning a permanent place in this mansion with every thermometer, Barbie doll, flashlight, beanie baby, golf club, guinea pig, and light bulb that's slipped into my rectum.

