So, there I was–burning a lot of slush pile when I saw Riana’s Black Coffee. The hook is unbeatable. The rhythm is deadly. I’m very excited for this one. I bring you, Black Coffee.
by Riana Simone
I have a body in the trunk of my car.
I’m trying my best not to think about this. About the Ralph Lauren picnic blanket under dead weight of said body. About my emergency road-side kit (in a shocking shade of magenta) resting against cold, clammy skin. Isn’t my Dior wind-breaker back there, too? Ish, I’m going to have to re-up on my bleach supply. There’s no way I’m keeping that blanket, though.
I lift my, I heart caffeine coffee mug and take a huge, burning swig to stop myself from gagging. I’m at work. I have to be. This is a staff meeting, and if I didn’t go, everyone would talk about me not being there and I just cannot handle that extra added stress right now. More importantly, I’m first in line for the new supervisor position the Health and Wellness department, and I’ll be dammed if anyone thinks they’re more qualified, or charismatic, or dedicated than I am. Supervisors are leaders and must maintain a high-energy, enthusiastic face at all times.
Right now, I’m sitting tall in a spinning chair, nodding as I scribble flower designs on my notebook. I know it makes me look important and attentive (like a supervisor). Nobody can see that I’m only making flowers but Rueben, and he still smells like a fifth of gin from last night. I wrinkle my nose in his direction, making sure that Amy, my supervisor sees. I never drink on weekdays. Well, I rarely drink anyway. Maybe a wine cooler or two on a girl’s night. I haven’t been to one in a long time, now that I think about it. I was pretty sure that enough time had passed since the Incident with Maryann. She accused me of trying to touch her – you know, like, how a man touches a woman – at our last sleepover. Frankly, that is just disgusting, and I can’t believe she would be so crude. She’s obviously desperate for attention. I know women like her. That was the last time I had more than two wine coolers, and it was only because we were celebrating Lydia’s engagement. I don’t remember much after the lemon drop shots. I know we ate a pizza, and some popcorn, then we watched a movie. Who wants to watch a movie after doing shots, right? So, anyway they told me I was being “too loud” so I just got in my sleeping bag and went to sleep. Clearly, I was passed out when the event took place. She probably liked it anyway. She used to whisper way too close to my ear, almost licking it whenever she wanted to say something bitchy about another person.
“What about you, Kat?” This is Rico, my supervisor’s little pet. Thank God I can multi-task! They’ve been talking about the new employee-health program for like, an hour.
“I think this is a phenomenal idea. Offering incentives to keep employees healthy not only saves the organization money but promotes a happier work environment,” I say.
I smile at Amy to make sure she sees how positive and energetic I am this morning. A positive attitude was a goal on my last review because some dodo went to Amy and told her that I wasn’t a team player, and I was always saying negative things about everybody and everything. Please! I’m the most optimistic, devoted employee on this floor. I even take my own garbage out to the dumpster each night before I leave. I don’t want Consuela or whatever the hell her name is digging in my personal documents.
“Yes,” Rico says, “We’ve established that. I’m asking you what you think about making the employee health assessment mandatory.”
Rico looks like a frog. He’s got this big, circular torso with long, stringy arms. His square, black glasses and bald head make him look more amphibious. He also has super brown-tinged teeth and could totally use a ninety-day-supply of white strips.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Rueben bellows next to me, “I think it’s a horrible idea. If people get dinged for unhealthy reports, then you’re creating a shaming environment. Only healthy people get points? What if you have something hereditary, like high cholesterol or high blood pressure?”
I hold my breath as Reuben continues complaining. He clearly doesn’t want to do it because his report will be rife with poor results. Smoker? Check. Drinker? Check. Fat and ugly? Check. Mouth breather? Check. I don’t need a sample of his blood to see that. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Amy watching me. Shit! I didn’t answer the question, did I?
“Excuse me,” I say cutting off his monologue, “but I think that incentivizing the assessment may encourage employees to live a more active, healthy life style.”
I see Amy nod. Frog-legs quiets Reuben with a few statistics which allows me to relax a little in my seat. I can almost smell the fresh fruit platter arranged in the middle of the conference table. There are bananas, watermelon, cantaloupe and strawberries. Oh, I love strawberries, but I don’t want to seem greedy or rude reaching across the table and shoveling food onto my plate. Carla over there clearly has no problem with it. She’s on her second plate of fruit. I just cannot understand why they keep her on. She’s lazy, for one: always at everyone else’s cubical but her own, laughing extra loud with that raspy, ex-smoker old lady guffaw. I never liked her after she confronted me in the break room a year ago.
“Did you use my creamer, Kat?” Carla asked. She blocked my exit to the door in the break room with her flabby body, clad in leggings and a bejeweled Mumu.
Did I use her creamer? Of course, I did! It was pumpkin fucking spice! It’s not like I could see her initials on the bottom of the stupid bottle, anyway.
“Nope, it wasn’t me,” I said. Since she was blocking the door, I pretended to wash my coffee mug out. Usually, somebody else did that, but since I was here and couldn’t go anywhere…why not?
“Well, a few people have told me that they saw you using my creamer, Kat.”
“Oh, really! Who are all these people who’ve seen me, Carla?” I remember the soap I used to clean my mug was green-apple scented, which makes me so nauseous. I had a bad experience with green-apple Jolly Ranchers when I was six-years-old. I wished she would hurry up, so I could get out of there.
“I’m not going to say any names, here, but I think I know it’s you who has been using all my creamer. I buy a new one each week, and it’s gone by Friday. I only have one cup of coffee a day, you know?” But she didn’t make is sound like a question. She made it sound like a threat.
“Well, perhaps you put an excessive amount of cream into your coffee. Did you know that cream is super high in saturated fat?”
I saw her jaw clench as she took a huge, wheezing breath through her nose. Pleased that my comment ruffled her, I wrapped up my washing and began drying my mug with brown, useless paper towels.
“Kat, let’s just be adults here, ok? Please don’t use my creamer anymore. If you need some, I don’t mind sharing, but please ask, ok?”
“I assure you, that I will never ask you for creamer because I drink my coffee black, and right now I’m feeling really threatened by you Carla because you’re blocking my exit out of this room.”
Carla moved her mass aside, motioning to the door like she was a fucking doorman or something. I glided out of there and went right to H.R. to report her for work-place harassment. She’s left me alone since then. Carla learned her lesson.
I look deep into my tan, frothy coffee and blow on it. Amy is blathering about employee parking now. Staff meetings are so boring. I could be working on this dilemma I’ve found myself in instead of talking about people who are too lazy to park far away.
Carla pipes up, leaning into the table, “Has anybody seen Todd? I haven’t seen him around the office this morning, and he’s usually the first person here.”
OMG, Todd. What a prick. Mr. Three-Piece-Suit, Mr. I’m-too-sexy-for-everyone. Yuck. So, I’m not going to lie, because I truly value honesty; he is easy on the eyes. A little too Ken Barbie Doll to me, an overly chiseled face, a full head of artificially wind-swept hair, ruined by frosted tips. His body isn’t bad, either. A little too much undefined muscle, however, which always ends in a beer belly and marshmallow puff arms. I involuntarily shiver. Frosted tips.
Rico looks at me with raised eyebrows, “You’re here early most days. Did you see Todd today?”
I carefully disguise an eye-roll by pretending to pick something off my eyelashes. Todd thinks that the Health and Wellness position should go to him because he’s been with the company for longer. This isn’t an organization that rewards people for just showing up, which is all Todd does. He shows up, looking pretty, and spends the day gabbing away with all the middle-aged hags who think they have a chance to get in his pants. He doesn’t even know how to create an excel document!
“No,” I lie, “The last time I saw him was on Friday, when he left at 2:45pm.” I, of course, stayed until 6pm. On a Friday. Unfortunately, I did run into Todd this morning as I was sanitizing my work space with Lysol wipes.
“Hey Kitty Kat, you’re here early,” Todd said as he leaned his big, clumsy limbs over my cubical wall. He smelled like pine and toothpaste. There was a little brown spec of something between his teeth. Disgusting.
I gave him my best fake smile and continued to wipe each pen and sharpie. “Yes, I was up early this morning, and I wanted to get a head start on the monthly report.”
He laughed – a big, obnoxious, inappropriate laugh that made my ears ring. It echoed in the dimly lit office, empty of bodies and void of machines humming.
“Oh Kat,” he pretended to wipe away a tear of laughter, “That report is obsolete, and there is nothing you could possibly do that is going to get you that position in Health.”
I’ll admit, I was a bit flabbergasted. Todd had been neither friend nor foe, and this announcement was unwarranted. I was even kind of nice to him, because he always greeted me, and never whispered behind my back like the rest of the old hags I work with – well, at least not noticeably. Of course, he was never a threat to me, professionally. You can’t get everything you want with a pretty face.
“What made you think I would even be interested in a middling position such as that? I would be offended if I expected more from you, Todd, but I’ve come to understand that you peaked in high school,” I watched his face holding onto the smile, relishing the effort it took visible in the lines of his brow. Wrong person, Todd. “But,” I continued, digging into my handy rolly-tote under my desk, “I am never one to hold onto unpleasant feelings.” I presented him with the treasure I’d found in my bag: a small iridescent box, wrapped with an elaborate sparkly bow.
His face rapidly changed from surprise to a nasty little smirk, which he must have thought looked sexy. He took the box from me hesitantly, carefully looking for the reason in my eyes.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s a gift! I know you have a sweet-tooth. I’ve seen Carla’s empty candy dish after you’ve been visiting,” I winked and licked my lips, which of course he watched intently.
“You just carry around expertly wrapped presents in your bag?”
“No silly,” I slammed my file cabinet shut a bit too loudly and made him flinch, “I specifically brought that for you this morning. It’s no big deal…just a random act of kindness.”
Todd raised one suspicious eyebrow and held the box out as if it would explode.
“Fine…I baked a batch last night because I was craving chocolate, but I only allowed myself two, dime-sized bites. I was planning on putting the rest in the breakroom; they’re all individually wrapped.” I shrugged to emphasize my point. I didn’t want him thinking that I actually liked him and those frosted tips. I wanted to run down to the local coffee shop to grab an all egg-white sandwich, and I had to pee super bad. All these questions were cutting into my time. I grabbed my purse and gave him a little wave. “Have a great, day!”
He was working on unwrapping the box, tearing into my no-show scotch tape like it was cheap. He pulled the tiny circular cupcake out of the box and smiled like a child.
“Well,” he said popping it into his mouth, “I suppose this means you’re earning brownie points with your new supervisor already.”
I started walking away from his sloppy presence at my cubical, until I heard something like a cat hacking up a hairball. I turned around and saw Todd’s eyes wide with horror, my beautiful wrappings carelessly dropped on the floor.
“Is….” He struggled to make noise; I had to move a few steps closer to hear him, “Nuts in this!”
“Not that I know of? Although, I did use a thick almond oil for the topping. It’s so much healthier than butter, did you know that?”
I shake my head, visualizing little Todd’s falling out of my ears. These little visualizations help me with obsessive thoughts and general anxiety. I’ve never been diagnosed, of course, but I prefer to use holistic, non-medicinal approaches to all ailments. I zero in on the conversation at the conference table. We’re still talking about parking? This is why I loathe these meetings. Just a waste of my precious time. However, I do need some time to figure out my next step with this situation. What the hell am I going to do with this body? I haven’t watched CSI for a while, but I’m pretty sure bodies don’t start stinking for at least a few hours. I put it in there early this morning, and the meeting goes until noon…that should be OK. But where should I put it? It’s not my fault, of course, but the authorities or police or whoever the hell deals with this kind of stuff probably won’t give me time to explain myself. Why are people always doing that? Just assuming things and closing their minds off before I open my mouth? This makes me think of Maryann again. God, what a psycho.
She had the audacity to call me out in front of everybody. I mean, she didn’t even have the tact to wait until later and call me on the phone or something. That was a super embarrassing night – not for me, but her.
Everyone in the house heard Maryann screaming and bitching. Someone had turned on all the lights, and everyone on the floor was blinking their eyes at the brightness. I was in the bathroom, tinkling.
“Maryann!” Sadie was the first on the scene. “What’s wrong? Why are you screaming?” I came out of the bathroom oblivious to what the hell was happening.
Maryann pointed at me, with her synthetic, tacky, pink-glittered nails.
“What?” I said, “I was in the bathroom?”
“She tried to, to touch me. I was sleeping, and I started to wake up when I felt someone’s hand digging into my panties! What the fuck, Kat?!”
All eyes were on me at that moment. Like all the eyeballs circled up behind Maryann and glowed with nefarious intentions right at me.
“OMG, Maryann,” I said, “What the hell are you talking about? Like I would do that? What are you on?” I folded my arms and rolled my eyes. This was an appropriate, non-verbal response to being accused of something. I just came out of the bathroom, didn’t I?
“I saw you, Kat! I woke up and saw your long, blond hair hanging over my head! And I asked you what the hell you were doing, and you ran out!” Maryann started the dramatics here, crying and carrying on like some African funeral or something. Not that I’m racist or anything. I mean, yeah, she’s black. But so, over-the-top at that moment. I mean, she was on her knees, sobbing. She should have been happy that someone wanted to get in there.
“I was in the bathroom, you guys. Jesus. You guys have known me for how long? I mean, you know I like dick, right?” I tried to laugh it off, like it was no big deal, because it wasn’t. For good measure I added, “And I’m not the only one here with long blond hair.”
Everyone looked at Gina, whose hair is blond, but that night it was in cornrows. Just embarrassingly ghetto. I would never.
Then, Lydia, the one we had the party for, a prissy little bitch who’s never had to worry about anything because her daddy takes care of it, says, “I think you need to leave, Kat.”
“This is ridiculous!” I remember yelling, “She probably just had a bad dream! Are you guys seriously kicking me out?”
Nobody would look at me. They were all watching Maryann, rolling on the floor like a dog. It makes me laugh, thinking about it now. I mean, really?
I was so done sleeping on the floor anyway, which is why I woke up in the first place, because my back hurt. We’re not some little girls, you know? Why didn’t she have a guest room or two for us? Women have guest rooms.
Anyway, I packed up my stuff and stomped out of there. I stayed up for the rest of night, waiting for Maryann to call and apologize, but she never did. In fact, nobody would take my calls at all: Maryann, Sadie, Lydia, Abby, or Gina. And I never got an invite for Sadie’s wedding, which I knew was going to be scheduled for last fall.
I know that I’m way above all those ladies. I mean, I was slumming there, in the friend pool. I didn’t really have a choice after I got out of the hospital. I felt like I had a sign on my face that said: PSYCHO. My friends since high school, Abby and Sam, wouldn’t even acknowledge me! All those years of friendship – gone. Just because I needed a mental health break from the stress of my high-performance standards. Maryann felt bad for me, I guess, because she swooped in and started inviting me to all her get-togethers. It was fun, for a while. Until that night. I can’t say it didn’t hurt when Maryann didn’t call back and apologize for screaming at me. Just rude.
“Do you have them, Kat?” Amy is staring at me. Actually, everyone is. Oops.
“I’m so sorry Amy, I was thinking about my report due tomorrow, can you repeat that?” I hear Reuben laugh under his breath. I give him a dirty look and turn my attention back to Amy.
“The new brochures, for the grant? Do you have them?” Amy is checking her watch.
“Yes!” I say quickly, “They’re in my….my trunk.” OMG. The brochures. They are right next to the body, in a box. I can’t believe I didn’t put them in my back seat. God, I hope they don’t smell.
“Great,” Amy says, “Kat is going to grab the brochures, pass a stack out to everyone and then our meeting is adjourned.”
I clench my legs together. I always feel like I’m going to pee when I’m nervous or anxious. How the fuck am I going to get those brochures out discreetly? Time. I need more time.
“Actually, Amy,” I say quickly as everyone starts folding up papers, and shuffling belongings, “Can I just pass out the brochures later this morning? My car is parked really far away, and I don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”
Amy nods, and relief washes over my body: I unclench my thighs and straighten my back again. Everyone begins to move around, soft laughter in the corner from Karla and Bev. I bet they’re talking about me. Trolls.
“You need help?” Reuben asks. I can see a stain on his shirt that was there last week, which is just disgusting. A small, orange circle, just below the second button on his grey shirt. Doesn’t he wash his clothes?
“No, I can handle it.”
“Come on, Kat, I know you’ve got to have at least two twenty-pound boxes, and even though you’re a bad ass, you shouldn’t have to carry them by yourself. That’s a long way.”
I blow the loose blond strands out of my eyes, which have mischievously escaped from my low bun. He is right, I can’t carry the boxes by myself, but I can’t have Ruben with me, either.
“I’m coming with,” Ruben huffs as he gestures me out of the room.
Reuben blathers about some kid the entire way to my car. I think it’s his niece or nephew, but the only thing I’m thinking about is how the hell I’m going to make this work. I’m parked on the street, in the middle of the city. I’m sure there are cameras everywhere, or at least prying, beady little eyes watching. Dammit! This never ever would have happened if they had just listened to my side of the story, or if Ruben had listened to me when I said no the first time. See? This is the cause of so many problems in my life: people not listening, or only hearing what they want to hear. Or making assumptions that I’m a mental case because of one extremely short stay in a hospital for people who are monumentally stressed out.
Ruben is laughing at his own joke. Huffing out puffs of hot, moldy pine needles. He hasn’t even noticed that I’m not participating in this conversation. My car is two blocks to the left, 3 blocks up, left turn on Rainville, right side. Meter number 12085. That’s my favorite meter, so that’s how I know the number. I try to park there every day, and now we are just minutes away. OMG Think Kat!
“Oh hey!” Reuben abruptly stops in the middle of our brisk walk. It’s not cold or anything, but his legs are as long as I am tall, so I guess it feels like I’m running. He points to a red awning across the street. “There is a new sandwich place over there! I heard it’s great, fresh meat and everything.”
Who doesn’t eat fresh meat on a sandwich! Gross.
“I’ve got a great idea,” I say, touching his arm, “Why don’t you go grab us some sandwiches for lunch, my treat, and I’ll just take the boxes out of my trunk, and you can meet me at my car to take them back!” I beam at my brilliance. Well, I’ll give credit when it’s due: and Reuben’s insatiable and unhealthy appetite. I quickly grab a twenty out of my purse and push it into his hand. “I can lift them in and out of my trunk. I got them in there, didn’t I?
He shrugs and pockets the twenty. “Where’s your car? You still driving the Focus?”
I nod, “It’s in the middle of Rainville, right-hand side. See you in a few!” I take off running before Reuben can open his mouth. My sensible, three-inch heels get me there in sixty-seven seconds. I timed it, of course. Which means I probably have four minutes and 3 seconds to extract the boxes before Reuben straggles around the corner. I’m so glad I went with these shoes instead of my other Tuesday shoe choice: white leather stilettos.
Last night, I found a shirt of Maryann’s in my closet, way in the back where my size eights are. I’m a size four now, so I don’t ever look back at the fat clothes. Anyway, I thought it would be considerate of me to return Maryann’s shirt. It’s a nice shirt, too: sleeveless, high-collar silk button up in a shade of light blue. I wore it to a club once when we were friends, and I was still fat, after the whole hospital thing. Anyway, I decided to drop the shirt off this morning, on my way to work, since she lives sort of by my office. Well, in the next city over, but I woke up super early, so I had time.
Earlier this morning I pulled up her driveway to her house and she came out in her scrubs, which meant she was on her way to work. I mean, Maryann isn’t a nurse or anything, she’s just a medical assistant.
When she saw my blue Ford Focus, she actually hustled to her car. Like, tried to get away before I even stopped! I laid on the horn, obnoxiously long, because she’s super anxious about what her neighbors think of her. You know, white-flight and everything. That did it, because she came up to my window with her finger up to her lips; the international sign of sshhh.
“What do you want?” She asked. I was taken aback by the rudeness of her voice. This was her ghetto, come-at-me-bitch, voice, and I didn’t appreciate being the recipient of it.
Since I was the bigger person, I took the high-road, just like Michelle Obama said. “Hi, Maryann! So nice to see you! I was looking through my closet last night and found something that belongs to you.” I went to dig through my bag on the passenger seat, to find the shirt, but she stopped me.
“I don’t want anything from you. Leave me alone. Go away, or I’m calling the cops.”
I blinked, not believing the words coming from her mouth. Here, I drove all the way across town, to her run-down house to deliver her belongings, and she threatens to call the cops on me? I didn’t move. I just sat there with my hands on the wheel, practicing my pranayama. I watched Maryann back up on her nerdy nurse shoes, those big-soled grandma-stompers. She got to the back of her crappy Toyota and pulled out her phone. That horrid, accusatorial bitch was going to call the cops on me!
My yogi breath shattered as a bitter taste rose in my mouth. Like coffee with no creamer. Yuck. I nearly vomited; it was horrible. I was so preoccupied with keeping the bile down, trying to keep my heart rate at a steady, one-two-beat, that I think I slipped into a meditative state. Like an out-of-body experience? The only thing I could hear was the chirping of early morning birds, and the white-noise of the freeway which ran a few blocks behind Maryann’s house. I remember that my body started to feel like jelly or Jell-O… something that was not solid, and it made me feel slippery. My hands slipped around the steering wheel, and my right foot slid off the brake. I didn’t do it on purpose. It was like a trauma-trance. I’ve been hearing the sound of my little Focus crunching into her boxy-jalopy. I think I have PTSD just reliving this moment in my mind.
I unlock my car as I approach it on Rainville. Did you know some people name their cars? I thought that was so cute, like a pet! I never was allowed to have a pet, and I just don’t have time to care for one now, so I named my car, too. Her name is Frida. Frida the Ford Focus. How adorable is that!
From a few feet away, I sniff the air to find out if I smell anything…rotting. It smells like gasoline, donuts and pavement, but no rot. This is good. I stop behind Frida as an idea forms in my head. I had a boyfriend in high school who had a little Ford car. If you put the seats down in the back, you could reach through this little rectangular hole, into the trunk. I shiver involuntarily and push the thoughts of lying under Zack Sartell away. He dripped salty sweat on me whenever he was on top, and his balls smelled like the inside of a hockey rink. Just disgusting. In fact, all balls kind of smell bad, now that I think of it. Andrew Polky’s balls: vacuum cleaner bag and baby powder. Jimmy Stewart: black mold and belly button lint. Nurse Andy from the hospital: antiseptic and well-water. I’m getting distracted.
I open the back door and ding around for a bit, looking for the levers to push the seats down. I have a very scrupulously clean car. I wash it each Saturday and vacuum every 2nd Sunday of the month. I also have a great new air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror called, “Hampton Beach.” I’ve never been to the ocean, but I hope that’s what it smells like: salt and fresh linens.
Once I get the seats down, I am assaulted by the smell of shit and piss. I simply pull my shirt up over my nose, because of cameras or busybodies. I need to get this done fast, and not look suspicious. I envision myself looking like a young woman digging in her back seat. It’s dark in the trunk rectangle, but the smell is…God awful. I gag and back out of the car for a moment, scanning the area around me. Not a busy time, late morning on a Tuesday. I take a deep breath, hold it, and plunge back in. Thankfully, the brochure boxes were pushed way to the back of the trunk, right where I can easily grab it from the back seat. I take one box out and drop it on the street next to Frida. I never could have carried these by myself. Stupid. I take another breath and dive in for the second box. I throw that one on top of the first one, before I quickly pop the seats back up, and close Frida’s back door. I take my lavender-mint spritz out of my purse and liberally apply it to the boxes and myself. I’ll need a shower soon. The smell emanating from my trunk is stuck in my nose, pushing into my brain. I can’t un-smell it. I exchange the spritz for my pocket notebook and briskly jot down my plans today. It’s imperative to have a method of organization. I like lists because I can cross off tasks, and I can see how productive I’ve been at the end of each day. I write down:
- Pass out brochures. Complain to at least 2 people about a coming migraine with description of visual orbs.
- Email Amy to inform her that I’m leaving for the day because of said migraine. Offer to come in Saturday afternoon to make up for the day.
- Drive out of the city immediately. Maybe stop and get a snack and an organic probiotic drink.
- Clean out trunk.
I look at my list. Clearly, I’m missing a lot of steps between 3 and 4, but this is just a general outline, and it should do for now. Reuben rounds the corner as I’m putting away my notebook.
“Hey! It was buy one, get one free today!” He holds up two bags triumphantly.
“Wow, great. You know what, you can actually have my sandwich…I have a headache, and I’m not really that hungry, anymore.”
He nods and gestures to the boxes, “I can take them both if you take the sandwiches?”
I grab the bag of food from him and look up expectantly. “Change?”
“Oh, oh yeah,” he gives me a fist of crumpled dollar bills. I’d count them if I had time, but I have more pressing things to deal with right now.
As I walk back to the office behind Ruben’s bulk, I realize that something good did come out of all this mess. I still have the blue button-down shirt! Perhaps I can use a belt to convert it to a mini-dress or use it as a fancy pajama top. I’m so glad that I can find the silver lining to every dark cloud. I told everyone I’d be a great leader.
I live in Minneapolis, Minnesota with my husband and three obnoxious, beautiful little trolls. I have a B.S. in Family Social Science from the University of Minnesota, and I’m currently working on my M.F.A. in Creative Writing at Concordia University. I went into social work because the course program didn’t require that I take any math classes, although my first love has always been the written word.-Riana Simone