“For the first three years, it’s fun being a pro football player’s girlfriend.
“Marlee, let me see your hand! Did Chris propose yet?” Amber asks.
I’m in year ten.
“Still naked.” I wiggle my fingers in front of her the same way I did last week and the week before that . . . and the week before that. #HeDidntPutARingOnIt
Sometimes, I like to hashtag my life. #CheaperThanTherapy
I sip my margarita. “When it happens, I promise to let you know.” Or, you know, keep asking every time you see me.
“Marlee.” Courtney sighs. She stands at the head of the table clutching a glitter-coated gavel. “We made exceptions for you to join the Lady Mustangs. Try to acknowledge that and save your little side conversation until we’ve finished.”
“Sorry, Court.” Every time I call her Court, she strains her Botoxed forehead and glares in my direction, so obviously, it’s the only thing I call her. Well, sometimes I call her bitch, but she doesn’t know about that.
“As I was saying, the annual Lady Mustangs Fashion Show is in three weeks. Everyone must attend the next meeting so we can discuss the outfits for you and your husbands.”
I catch her eye again. She raises her chin, and her fat-injected lips form an actual smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry. In your case, Marlee, you and your boyfriend.”
See? What a bitch.
“Thanks for the clarification, Court, but I understood.”
― Intercepted
“Marlee, let me see your hand! Did Chris propose yet?” Amber asks.
I’m in year ten.
“Still naked.” I wiggle my fingers in front of her the same way I did last week and the week before that . . . and the week before that. #HeDidntPutARingOnIt
Sometimes, I like to hashtag my life. #CheaperThanTherapy
I sip my margarita. “When it happens, I promise to let you know.” Or, you know, keep asking every time you see me.
“Marlee.” Courtney sighs. She stands at the head of the table clutching a glitter-coated gavel. “We made exceptions for you to join the Lady Mustangs. Try to acknowledge that and save your little side conversation until we’ve finished.”
“Sorry, Court.” Every time I call her Court, she strains her Botoxed forehead and glares in my direction, so obviously, it’s the only thing I call her. Well, sometimes I call her bitch, but she doesn’t know about that.
“As I was saying, the annual Lady Mustangs Fashion Show is in three weeks. Everyone must attend the next meeting so we can discuss the outfits for you and your husbands.”
I catch her eye again. She raises her chin, and her fat-injected lips form an actual smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry. In your case, Marlee, you and your boyfriend.”
See? What a bitch.
“Thanks for the clarification, Court, but I understood.”
― Intercepted
“If I weren't so screwed up, I would've sold my soul a long time ago for a handsome man who made me feel pretty or who could at least treat me to a Millionaire's Martini. Instead I lingered over a watered down Sparkling Apple and felt sorry about what I was about to do to the blue-eyed bartender standing in front of me. Although I shouldn’t, after all, I am a bail recovery agent. It's my job to get my skip, no matter the cost.If I weren't so screwed up, I would've sold my soul a long time ago for a handsome man who made me feel pretty or who could at least treat me to a Millionaire's Martini. Instead I lingered over a watered down Sparkling Apple and felt sorry about what I was about to do to the blue-eyed bartender standing in front of me. Although I shouldn't, after all, I am a bail recovery agent. It's my job to get my skip, no matter the cost. Yet, I had been wondering lately. What was this job costing me? Yet, I had been wondering lately. What was this job costing me?”
― A Good Excuse to Be Bad
― A Good Excuse to Be Bad
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