Not Ready for Mom Jeans (39 page)

I think it’s pretty funny. Jake does not.

Unpacking is so overwhelming, I don’t know where to start. I should probably start by organizing my clothes, but I don’t have the strength to fold the frillion pairs of pants I own. Or I could unpack all the kitchenware, but I really don’t feel like washing everything.

I’m tempted to just start throwing everything out so we don’t have to unpack it. I mean, we don’t actually need more than like two plates and three forks, right? And Lord, all those horrid wedding gifts we felt too bad to throw out, couldn’t sell on eBay, and were forced to pack and thus now unpack.

Screw it. I’m going to take a bath in my tub. Yes! I have a tub now! Many of my readers told me my master bathroom resembles a “spa” and looks very “warm and cozy.” Wifey1025 offered to send me some of her homemade bath salts. Which I’m sure contain just a smidge of rohypnol.

Tuesday, November 11

We might have to move.

Seriously.

Everything’s still packed. It wouldn’t be too difficult.

Still riding our new real estate high yesterday, I was delighted when our new neighbor came over to introduce herself. Well, I was delighted until she started screaming at the top of her lungs that our dog woke her up this morning and left shit in her yard.

Did I mention it was 7:15 a.m.?

Yes, I opened the door this morning, still in my pajamas, Sara crawling around at my feet.

“Hi,” I said, and smiled at the large, boxy woman with the pageboy haircut in front of me.

“I hate dogs.” She scowled at me.

“Um, what?” I said, and rubbed my eyes, unable to process what she said.

“Dogs. I hate them,” she said again.

“Uh, can I help you?” I said, totally confused. Part of me still thought I was dreaming.

“Your dog woke me up this morning. I work nights and I need my sleep. But your dog started howling and made me get out of bed. What do you have to say?” Large portly woman placed her hands on her hips.

I prayed for Jake to get out of the shower and come downstairs and help me figure out what the hell was going on. I instinctively stepped in front of Sara.

“Excuse me, I think you’re mistaken. We don’t have a dog,” I said firmly, still smiling, hoping the crazy lady would leave and I could have a cup of coffee before work.

“Oh yes, you do. You pet owners are all the same. You never respect anyone’s property,” she spit at me.

“I’m sorry, like I said, we don’t have a dog.” I started to close the door.

She put her hand on the door and pushed it so I couldn’t close it. “You gonna clean up that dog shit in my yard?” she said.

“Please leave,” I said. She let go of the door and I closed it. I scooped Sara up and watched Psycho Bitch waddle back over to her house next door.
Great, she lives next door,
I thought.

Today, when Jake got home from work, he found a pile of dog crap on our front porch. Psycho Bitch fully admitted to putting it on our doorstep, to teach us a lesson about cleaning up after our pets. Jake told her to stay away from our property or else he would call the police, but Psycho Bitch told him she was going to send our dog to the pound. Yes, very good. Send our imaginary dog to the shelter. Also, please let me know when my imaginary dog asks you to shoot the President. I’d like a heads-up.

I suggested we send Butterscotch over to her house and let him hump all of her underwear, but Jake didn’t think it was a good idea. Regardless, if I disappear and the police are reading this diary, Psycho Bitch strangled me and I’m buried in her backyard. Look there.

Wednesday, November 12

“Want me to sunbathe topless in your backyard?” Julie offered.

“Um, no. That’s OK,” I said as I switched the phone receiver to my right ear.

“Just let me know. I have no problem using the girls as a weapon.”

“I’m fully aware,” I said as I examined a hangnail.

“So I went out with Trevor again last night,” Julie offered.

She had my attention. “Really? How was it?”

“Fine. We went to a sports bar and split some wings and a pitcher of beer.” Her tone gave absolutely no indication of how the night went.

“And?”

“And nothing. We just had some wings and a few beers and watched some football game.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?” My voice started to raise an octave. She was entitled to privacy, but
please
. Give a girl some details.

“Yep,” Julie said cheerfully.

“Huh,” I said, stunned.

I think it was the only time Julie’s ever described a date without minutiae, including her predictions of sexual tendencies and anatomy. Either this guy is a secret agent in the witness protection program and has blackmail materials on her, forcing her to remain silent about the details of his life … or she actually likes him.

Both are equally probable.

“Hey, listen, what about those concert tickets I mentioned last week?” I changed the subject.

Her pause told me her face was blank.

“You know, the tickets I got through work to some showcase at the House of Blues. Free drinks, free backstage passes, free VIP admission.” I nodded my head, thinking she was definitely having a premature senior moment.

“Oh, right,” she said slowly. “Um, I don’t kno—”

“What?” I shrieked. “How could you not know? Do you have other plan—” I stopped myself as the lightbulb went off. “Oh my God! You DO like this guy! You’re not committing to plans to leave your weekends free to be with your BOYFRIEND!” I shrieked again.

Julie’s face turned pink. “Not even close! I just don’t know what my work schedule is,” she started to say. “Screw it. Yeah. You’re right. Now you know what I’ve had to deal with between you and Reese.” She shrugged.

“Wow.” I exhaled loudly and sat for a moment. I leaned forward and smiled. “I think it’s awesome.”

And it is. But … Holy Crap.

Sunday, November 16

This morning, I opened my front door to walk to my car and drive to Elise’s house but immediately stopped. Psycho Bitch stood in her driveway, talking to an equally portly older couple. I froze, unsure of whether I should walk to my car and pretend I didn’t see them or wait it out. After a vision of Psycho Bitch throwing canine excrement at my car, I decided to wait it out.

I crouched on my front porch, hidden behind a bush, and waited for them to finish their conversation. Those jerks stood around for fifteen minutes shooting the shit. I learned the portly older couple were her parents. And they were all on diets. They compared weight loss recipes, their exercise habits, and inches lost.

Finally, I could wait no longer, so I stood up, brushed evergreen needles off my pants, and hustled to my car, head down. Their conversation halted and I could feel three sets of eyes follow me as I jumped into my car and pulled out of the driveway.

I arrived at Elise’s at the same time as the party rental company. I pulled up to her estate, the enormity startling me even though I’d been here before to do the event walk-through. A beautiful redbrick Georgian with black shutters, it whispered, rather than shouted, money, in opposition to most of the other houses on the block, with huge white pillars and fountains in the driveway.

I hopped out of my car, waved my arms around, and started directing the tables, chairs, and tent setup. Within five minutes, Elise walked out to the backyard, a cashmere sweater thrown around her shoulders.

“Good morning,” she said, and rubbed her forehead.

“Morning! How’s it going?” I said as I approved the chair design.

“Dreadful. I was tossing and turning all night, worrying about this party. It means so much to Logan, I just want everything to go according to plan,” she said.

“Don’t worry, it will. That’s why I’m here. Logan will be thrilled,” I said, and smiled at Elise. “She still in bed?”

“Of course. She’s a teenager. She’ll be up in a few hours. She’s so excited,” Elise said, and sipped a mug of coffee. “Can I get you some?” she asked, and raised the mug.

“Love it, thanks!”

“Be right back,” she said, and turned to walk back into her palatial estate.

Within an hour, the tent was erected, the flooring installed, and the electrical wiring started. I sat back and sipped on coffee and barked orders at everyone. Everything was going according to schedule when Logan appeared at my side, curly hair frizzed back into a ponytail.

“Looks good,” she said, and hiked her glasses up with one finger.

“Good morning! I thought you might like it.” I gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Excited for tonight?”

“I totally can’t wait!” she squealed.

“Do you have your dress laid out and everything?”

“Yep! It’s designed after the one in
The Princess Diaries
. My mom’s even having someone come and do my hair and makeup. I’m going to look so good!” she said, and clapped her hands together.

“You’re going to look amazing.” I nodded in agreement.

“I’m cold, so I’m going to go inside. See you soon!” Logan waved and turned to run back in the house, pajamas pants decorated with chili peppers billowing behind her.

“Hey there!” Keri’s voice called out as she walked across the lawn.

“It’s starting to come together.” I nodded and pointed toward the workers smoothing out the white fabric for the dinner tent.

“This is so cool. You must be so proud. You’ve done such a great job,” Keri said as she lifted her paper coffee cup toward me.

“Thanks, I am. Now we just need to pull it off,” I said, and smiled at her.

By 4:00 p.m., the tent was set up and the last-minute prep began. The caterers scurried around like mice underfoot to prepare the appetizers and signature cocktails at the bar. The candy sculptor warmed up his candy wheel and tools to whittle the sugary red candies, and the giant ice sculptures were in place.

After Keri changed into her dress, I grabbed my bag out of my car and walked inside Elise’s house to change. I walked through her amazing kitchen, complete with dual Sub-Zero fridges and miles and miles of granite countertops. I found a bathroom and was just about to close the door when I heard a scream.

A scream not of terror but of despair. A sound I recognized: the scream of a teenager.

I paused and stuck my head out the door, craned my neck, and tried to hear the conversation.

“… awful … make fun of me … look ridiculous!” Logan.

I debated whether or not to intervene, so I slowly crept toward the bottom of the stairs to see if I was needed. A loud thud sounded and a bedroom door ripped open and Logan walked out, round face flushed red and streaming with tears, hair pulled severely on top of her head in a matronly bun.

“Clare! Tell me! Doesn’t my hair look wretched?” Logan screeched. “I’m going to look so ugly for my party,” she sobbed.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart! It just needs an adjustment—let Maxie try to fix it for you,” Elise said from inside the bedroom.

“MOM! I told you I’m NOT letting her touch my hair! She already messed it up once!” Logan shouted into the bedroom. “Clare, you have to help me!” she said, and turned to me.

“Um, OK,” I said, and slowly crept up the stairs.

Logan and I walked into her bedroom, where Elise was perched on a massive antique four-poster bed, dressed in a silk robe, hair in Velcro curlers. A terrified hairdresser cowered in the corner. Logan led me into her bathroom