"You have a great candy selection yourself!" she said, making me laugh. "I'm sure all the guys are after your gobstoppers."
"Hardly," I said. "I think I'm too much of a mess. I scare them off. I'm sure all the men in Harrogate want the health-food, vegan-goddess types. I'm more the carbs, cheese, and cake troll that lives under the bridge."
"Please," Ida snorted. "I've been around. Trust me—wave those things at a guy, and he'll come crawling under that bridge with you. Men like a little something to grab onto." She winked.
I grabbed milk, three kinds of cereal, a few packets of microwave mac 'n' cheese, and a box of bottom-shelf wine. There was also a display with organic chocolate chip cookie dough, but it was expensive. I sighed longingly and put it back. I bet it was delicious.
Ida waved me over to the cash register.
"Pro tip," she said, pointing to my shirt. "Put hair spray on those ink spots, and let it sit forty-eight hours. Wash it off in cold water, and it'll be good as new."
"I'll do that," I said gratefully as she rang up my groceries.
"Also"—she waved a packet of organic chocolate cookie dough in my face and put it in my bag—"this is on the house."
"I can't," I protested, but not all that hard if I was being honest.
"I know a kindred spirit," Ida said, blowing me a kiss.
I was feeling a lot lighter when I walked into my tiny house. Ida seemed cool. Hopefully she was cool with me parking my house in the lot behind her store for a little bit.
After taking down two of the pasta-filled mason jars, washing them, and filling them with the candy I had just bought, I took off my shirt and sprayed it with hair spray.
"Let's see, Ida. You came through with the cookie dough. Hopefully this works. I can't believe I ruined two shirts in one day." The bra I just had to assume was ruined. It wasn't like anyone was going to see it. Mace wasn't planning on ripping my clothes off. I felt a bit tingly between the legs at the thought.
"Ugh, what am I doing?" I shouted to the tiny house. "I can't stand him. He's the worst, and he clearly hates me."
My stomach growled. I looked at the cookie dough then put it down.
"No, you need to be a responsible adult. Eat the instant mac 'n' cheese first." The tiny house was supposed to be furnished, and I poked around for a bowl. I wrenched an upper cabinet open, and the door flew off the hinges and hit me in the face.
"Ouch!" I clutched at my head. "Why is this happening to me?" The tiny house creaked ominously. Rubbing my head, I pulled a bowl out of the cabinet, filled it with water, and looked around for the microwave.
It was then that I discovered the tiny house did not have a microwave.
"Why does my life suck?" I yelled. "I'm eating cookie dough for dinner, and you can't stop me!"
I grabbed the handle of a drawer then stopped myself from wrenching it open. "Not this time, house." I carefully opened the drawer and took out a spoon.
"See? I'm nice to you. You can be nice to me." The front face of the drawer fell off, landing on my foot.
I think my tiny house is trying to kill me.
I ripped open the packet of cookie dough, poured myself some wine, and went to town. Sadly, this was not the worst thing I could be eating. I have been known to eat butter with sugar. Pro tip—put a little vanilla extract in the mixture, and it's like eating buttercream frosting. Yes, I have a problem.
It started raining again sometime after my third glass of wine. I woke up to a wet mushy piece of insulation falling on me.
Oh no.
I looked up; dirty water dripped in my eyes. A piece of the ceiling had fallen off, and the rain leaked through. Cursing my bad decisions that had led me to this point, I found some duct tape and a plastic bag and patched the leak as best as I could.
Josie:I hate this house. It’s raining inside
Willow:I'll come help you tomorrow. This PharmaTech project is the worst. The management is problematic
Josie:Let me guess. Tara
Willow:Uh yeah
