Page 200 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
Last night wasn’t my best showing.
I let losing to a cat get to me. Instead of storming off in pure, unfiltered rage, I should have shaken hand in paw with the feline and congratulated him on a job well done.
But I didn’t do that.
Despite my best efforts to not take the loss to heart, I ended up punting a hole through the bottom of the penis piñata that Henry had to patch up this morning before heading to work—again—and relentlessly beating Henry’s pillow until I passed out on the bed, ass up in the air and arms spread out like a T. I know this because Henry took a picture of me last night and showed me this morning.
Normally, I would have laughed. Instead, I chucked his phone across the room. I watched it skid across the floor until it hit the kitchen wall. I was so shocked at my reaction that I ran into the bathroom, locked myself away, and got ready for my doctor’s appointment.
Thank God for phone cases, because before I left the apartment, I checked to make sure his phone was okay and apologized. He was very forgiving, kissed me on the forehead, and sent me on my way. I told him I had some last-minute bachelorette party things to attend to, rather than tell him about my appointment. I couldn’t spare another eye-roll from him.
I knew he was stressed, I was stressed, the cat was stressed . . . it was one giant stress ball in our apartment, and the last thing I wanted to do was get all emotional again over my heavy purple vagina. I felt sure that one more insane outburst from me would grant me a one-way ticket to singles-ville. Why the man hadn’t left me yet was beyond me, especially after last night’s episode.
Pretty sure I earned my grade-A certificate to the insane asylum.
Something to be proud of.
All self-respect I once had for myself derailed and flew off into the void, never to be found again. Whenever I tried to find it, I struck out big time, and usually wound up making a bigger ass of myself.
The one good thing that happened today was Wendy hooked me up with her editor. She was going through the first round of edits. Wendy thought it would be a good idea for me to self-publish, because it gave me more control, and I could start to get my name out there. She talked about starting up a separate Facebook page, a website with my own domain, and a Goodreads profile. I had no clue what any of that was, but I had a feeling I’d find out quickly. She was the driving force behind my book right now; without her, it would probably still be on my computer, ten chapters in and no resolution for poor Meghan, left only with a good fart to the face of one of the suitors trying to pursue her.
“Rosie,” a nurse called out into the waiting room.
I gathered my things and followed her to the doctor’s office, straight to the scale, where I began to sweat. I knew the number she’d read out loud wouldn’t settle well with me, so I tried to weasel my way out of this portion of the exam.
“I don’t think we need to weigh me. I can tell you I’m a cool one twenty-five.” I sucked in the gut flopping over my yoga pants, but she wasn’t falling for it.
“Sorry, ma’am, but we have to weigh everyone.” She tapped the scale, indicating for me to follow directions.
“Um, okay. Hold on.” I dropped my purse, took off my shoes, socks, scarf, and even undid my ponytail to get rid of the weight of the rubber band . . . anything to help that number.
“You ready?” The nurse looked at me weird.
“Sure, but please note, I had a bagel this morning, so I might be a little heavier than normal.” I stepped one foot on the scale, secretly keeping the other foot on the floor, but applying just enough pressure to reach that one twenty-five mark. “Ah, see, I told you. What a lovely number, don’t you think?”
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step fully onto the scale.”
We both looked at my feet, and I giggled. “Oops, my mistake. I thought it was one-foot-on-the-scale day. Man, you should have told me it was a both-feet-on-the-scale day. I don’t think I’m mentally prepared for two feet on the scale today.”
The nurse put her hand on her hip, clearly not entertained, and said, “You can either put both feet on the scale or I can write down that you weigh two hundred pounds and move on.”
“You wouldn’t,” I sneered at her.
“Test me.”
She was one tough bitch.
“Fine, but just so you know, my friend said I’ve gained a little love chub since I’ve moved in with my boyfriend, but I’ve been going to the gym, despite how much it hurts.”
Yup, I knew it made no sense to a perfect stranger.
She ignored me and started moving the knob on the scale right past one twenty, on to one thirty, and stopping at one forty.
“One forty-one,” she announced to the entire office building.
“You shut your mouth,” I snapped at her, covering my lips right away from my outburst. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that just came from.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed at me, scanning me up and down. “You peed in a cup after you signed in?”
