"You just said I needed to do these chores.Nowhere did you say I needed to do them well.Have a great day at work, my ogres," I say cheerfully as I head out of the kitchen to my bedroom, where I can look at my red butt in the floor-length mirror, cry a little more, and become more diabolic.
I do everything on my list and do them so profoundly wrong, I've reached genius-level, and I didn't even plan on it.
For dinner I make a salad.Just lettuce.
I do their laundry, then soak their clean clothes in my perfume.Now they can smell like me while felling trees.I iron their jeans and make sure to burn the area where their backsides go.You know, for the breeze.
I darn their socks.Well, I sew them all together into a train.But hey, no holes.
I sweep the porch but sweep the dirt into their boots.But hey, the porch is clean.
When they return from their hard day doing manual labor and being all strong and sweaty and ruggedly sexy, they say nothing, but I swear I can hear their exasperated growls right through the walls of my room.
One more thing I need to do and I don't plan to fail.I set my alarm for 3:40 am, then blurry-eyed, I march myself outside to sing a nursery rhyme to the trees.
Except I take with me the megaphone, I saw in their utility closet before, and I sing to my heart's content in my screechiest voice, "You Are My Sunshine," amplified enough to wake the dead.Or three sleeping lumberjacks.
And right on cue, they come charging out of the cabin, and I'm momentarily awestruck by the sight of their bodies.Wearing only boxer shorts and nothing else, my eyes trip over their eight-pack abs, their bodies so ripped and sinewy, I lose my breath before I get back to business.
I offer them a sweet smile in the face of their incredulity.They did tell me to sing to the trees softly after all.
"For the trees in the back," I say, happy with myself as I pass them by.They mutter "brat" in return.
That'll learn them to mess with me.
The next day I do the exact same thing.But then a sudden craving for ice cream hits me hard.And that only means one thing: I am going to get my period.Oh joy.
They've already left for their outdoor office after consuming gelatinous oats and burnt eggs, which means I'm all alone and can gorge myself on liters of the stuff.I don't care that it's nine in the morning.It's my breakfast.
I head to the kitchen, but a sinking feeling rises inside me.I didn't see any evidence of the freezer having any.Panic swirls around me as I flip open the freezer.I flip open the second freezer too and find not one single frozen dessert.Oh, there are cookies and candy, but no ice cream.I must have it.Or I'm going to explode, possibly into a rage, or my insides will burst out of my skin.
How can they not have any?What kind of heathens are they?
I'm not spending another minute here, in this godforsaken place with no ice cream.This is where I draw the line.Yes, I know I'm being a little crazy, but it's like this every month.
I hunt for my car keys, but then I discover I'm out of gas.Great.I'll have to take one of their trucks.But it's a stick shift.Of course it is, because what other kind of truck would they drive?
Ice cream.I need ice cream right now.
I find my phone, and of course no fast-food delivery service comes this way.Fuck.Because they live in the goddamn middle of nowhere.
I remember the town I passed.It's the closest, and from some of the names on their groceries, it's where they shop too.
I find the number for an ice cream shop.
"Hi, do you do deliveries?I'm at the Titan Timber cabin, you know, the one that belongs to Cedar Foster, Masen Britt, and Samuel Turner?"
"Oh yeah, sure, everyone knows the cabin.But we don't do deliveries, Miss."
"Really?You can't make this one-time exception for me, please.I'm really desperate."
"Hey, are you the pretty girl in the pink four-wheeler?You were asking for directions a few days ago?"the guy on the other side asks.He sounds young, possibly my age.
"Yes, yes, that's me.I'm here.My name is Coral.What's your name?"I ask sweetly.
"I'm Jeff Milestone, but my friends call me Jeefy."
"Nice to meet you, Jeefy," I say, deliberately using his name because I'm a friend...a friend who wants ice cream.
