“Thanks for the Mammaries”
I was startled out of a deep sleep. Struggling up from the couch, I tried to get my bearings. There was a soft light peeking out from under the curtains. It must have been early in the morning, which meant that I had gotten about three or four hours of sleep. It wasn’t enough. I felt like death. My stomach was full of undigested ice cream, I had a terrible case of dry mouth, and my eyes were swollen.
I was about to fall back to sleep when I realized why I had woken up in the first place. Someone had knocked on the door. As if to prove me right, there was another knock. It was loud and insistent. I waited for the pounding to stop, but it didn’t.
“I’ll be right there,” I croaked. Opening the door, I was shocked to see Hudson MacMillan, my savior and egg white-pusher from the night before. He was a man of his word. It was bright and early. Like some cosmic joke, he was even better looking in daylight. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and he was carrying a workout bag. I didn’t like the look of that.
“But…” I started. I wanted to give him a string of excuses why I didn’t want a workout bag in my life, but he seemed to read my mind and cut me off.
“We made a deal. I’m ready for you. May I come in?”
“Well…”
He edged past me and put the bag on the coffee table. He took a cursory look at the floor, which was littered with my nutritional sins.
“I’ve sort of been in a slump,” I explained.
“You think?” he asked, pointing up and down at me.
“What? I changed.”
“Not changed enough, but don’t worry about it. We’ll get you changed soon. How about you take a short shower and then we’ll get started? Don’t forget to brush your hair. It’s…” He threw his hands up in the air, like he was directing traffic. I put my hands on my head and was embarrassed to discover that one half of my hair was standing on end, and the other end was smashed flat. First, he made me eat egg whites and now he was making me brush my hair. I wasn’t sure I wanted a Bossy Mcbossypants in my life.
“What kind of Marine are you? You’re not a drill sergeant by any chance, are you?”
Hudson signaled me to sit on the couch with him and gave me a hard look, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m sensing some reluctance on your part, and I get it. Being happy is scary.”
“I’m not scared of being happy. I was happy for twenty-five years, and it didn’t scare me once.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You believe that? You were happy for twenty-five years?”
I got uncomfortable, like I had stepped on an anthill. My skin was creepy-crawly, and it stung a little, too. Reflecting on my life was painful for some reason, and I didn’t want to reflect on why.
“What’s happening here? What do you want?” I asked.
Hudson unzipped his bag and took out a small notebook. He handed it to me. “Ten Commandments. Ten steps to the new you, and by ‘new you,’ I mean the old you. The original you.”
“I don’t remember the original me.” The original me went back a lot of years. Before senior prom. I couldn’t recall that far back except that I had blond highlights, a tight perm, and fourteen sweaters with three-inch thick shoulder pads. Not a pretty picture. Why would I want that again?
Not to mention that I was lonely back then. I mean, wasn’t I? Steve wasn’t in my life yet, so I had to be lonely. Didn’t I? After all, he was out of my life now, and I was desperately lonely. So, Hudson was wrong. The good times were when I was with Steve, when he loved me. My husband was the secret to happiness. I had to get Steve back, and here was where Hudson was right: since Steve wanted me when I was the original me—and wanted me bad—I had to become the original me again. The solution was so simple. At that moment, I understood what I had to do. Somehow, I had to win my husband back from Tight Tammy’s clutches…and her other body parts. I couldn’t be happy until I did.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do what you tell me to do. Excuse me, I’m going to make a cup of coffee.”
I got up, but Hudson pulled me back down. “No coffee. Coffee is bad for you.”
“Studies show that coffee is good for your heart.”
“Bullshit. No coffee.”
“But antioxidants…”
He shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”
“But coffee has fibraxidentals, which has been proven to prevent cancer.”
“Fibraxidentals is not a word. You made that up. Nice try.”
I stared at him through my angry, angry eyes. “Don’t take my coffee.” I spat each syllable, and I clenched my fists, ready to punch him in the stomach. If he had a stomach. His abdomen was flat as a board, so it was debatable.
