Getting Waisted by Monica Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

delicatessen, the bakery, the hairdresser. Mostly, I wanted to drive them all right off a cliff. But I needed that car. Now that I had wheels, I had the ability to check up on Howie. Checking up is probably a tad understated; in reality, I became an obsessive stalker. I drove by his house over and over, hoping to get a glimpse of him or just to breathe the same air he was breathing. One day, I drove by and I saw his door open. I panicked and threw myself face down onto the empty passenger seat, knowing he was watching a very familiar giant yellow convertible driving by with no driver.
    Even after that horror show, I couldn’t stop. I was the hunter and he was my prey. I tailed him relentlessly. I knew Howie liked to play hockey so I put on my new white fuzzy hat and matching scarf over a pale pink, even fuzzier, sweater. In retrospect, I must have looked like a fat, cartoon character rabbit. To complete the look, I slung a pair of ice skates over my shoulder. I didn’t skate and, honestly, the idea that anyone could glide, spin, or leap on those skinny little metal blades was beyond this big-assed girl’s comprehension—but Howie didn’t know that, and I had no plans to ever get on the ice so he would never find out.
    I casually circled the rink about eighty times until he finally looked up. By that time I was hot and uncomfortable, but I smiled and waved, possibly a bit too exuberantly. Distracted by the sight of me, Howie whacked the puck so hard that it flew out of the rink, hitting my skates, which flew up in the air. One of the boots came down blade first, slicing through my hat, my hair, and finally my scalp. Blood gushed out from under my white fuzzy hat and I could feel myself getting dizzy but I knew I had to seize the moment: “Hi Howie.”
    His face twisted in a weird way and I was sure he hated me but gradually I understood—blood was dripping into my mouth and a big blotch landed on my white scarf. “Oh my God!” I felt faint but was determined not to let him see me pass out. “I have . . . a . . . a
. . . I have to go. Great seeing you. Bye.”
    Twenty-seven stitches later, my non-relationship came to a horrible and even more humiliating end. How was that even possible? I was at home with a bandage on my head and a bowl of ice cream in my lap when the phone rang. It was Howie asking me if I was busy on Friday night! I was stunned almost into silence. I couldn’t breathe. There really was some angel who went around and answered prayers. “Um . . . I’m . . . I’m not busy,” I said, my heart beating out of my chest, “Um . . . what do you want to do? Whatever you want would be whatever I would want to do, too.”
    I heard him swallowing hard, then came a long silence. I didn’t know what to say and it seemed, neither did he, but then he blurted out that my mother had found his number on the cover of all of my notebooks. Oh God, oh God, no! I thought to myself. He continued, “She thought we had a thing, so she called me to ask me to take you to your surprise birthday party on Friday at The House of Chan and I didn’t know what to say to that, and also I didn’t want to be rude, so . . . ”
    I couldn’t feel my heart beating anymore, it must have stopped when it got caught in my throat, and I was sure I was flat-lining. “What! Wait, my mother called you? My mother called you!
Oh . . . oh . . . aaah . . . Thank you, um, bye.” I hung up and I sat paralyzed, completely numb except for the extreme pounding in my head, which wasn’t coming from my stitches.
    Shaking it off, I charged into the living room where, of course, my mother was playing bridge with the girls. “You ruined my life!” I screamed.
    She didn’t understand what she had done wrong but I knew she heard two and a half cases of Metrecal hitting the bottom of the metal garbage can, then the fridge door slamming after I grabbed a full quart of Neapolitan ice cream, followed by the banging of my bedroom door behind me.

5
    Puppy