Authors: Christine Zolendz,Angelisa Stone
Why’d you cross off the “and equally by?”
Because it looks stupid. They know it’s by both of us.
But you get top billing, so they think it’s MORE by you.
Nobody thinks that.
Everyone thinks that. You have more readers than I do, anyway.
Oh, my God, not this again. Let’s just put our names on the same line, then.
It won’t fit. Plus, whose name would go first on the line?
Holy Hell, do you want to just leave my name off?
I mean, NO. Definitely not—I guess.
Copyright © 2015 by Christine Zolendz and Angelisa Stone
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by LP Hidalgo, Bookfabulous Designs
Interior design by Angela McLaurin,
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The authors acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
This book is dedicated to all women who:
**have looked in the mirror and gasped at whom they saw.
**have looked at their husband and dreamed of punching him the face.
**have looked at their kids and wondered how cute, little innocent creatures could viciously suck the life right out of them.
**have devoured a bag of Skittles on the same day they started a diet.
**have imagined beating their skinny friend with a Pepperoni & Cheese Loaf when she asked if her “butt looked big” in her size four yoga pants.
**have tried every product that promises to defy the years and make them look younger.
**have gone days without a shower while dried formula soured on their shirt.
**have heard their knees and hips ominously crack when they stand up.
**have struggled into a pair of Spanx to hide the “pooch” that baby #3 brought with him.
Hell, this book is dedicated to
of you, women of the world, who deserve the recognition and praise you rarely get. You’re women! You can do it all—one handed. You’re the reason your families function; you’re the machine that keeps it going—the center of it all. Remember that carefree, fun girl in her twenties? Guess what? She’s still there; you just have to find her!… And no, she’s not hiding in the pantry behind the Teddy Grahams and Goldfish… or at the bottom of your bottle of Cabernet. She’s right there inside of you, begging to come out. Let her out—she deserves to come out!
Twitter: That awkward moment when you wake up in jail and you wonder what you did to get there. Then smile. #TripleX
A lone dimly lit light bulb sways gently from the jail cell’s ceiling. It hurts to open my eyes toward it, so I squint to try to ease the pain. A handful of loudly buzzing insects fly wildly around the dull yellow globe and just the sight causes me to scratch at my arms and neck madly. I loathe bugs. And it’s like
above my head right now.
Pulling myself up into a sitting position, the throbbing behind my eyes turns sharp and shatters into millions of razor-tipped tiny pieces of glass. I moan as I grab my head in pounding pain. The room spins, and I fall back with a hard thud against the cold concrete wall.
I hear footsteps, heavy and impending, walking along the rough cement of the hallway. I peek through my fingers, but all I can see is the knotted hair of my cellmate, my partner in crime.
The footsteps become louder, closer. Keys are jangling. Someone is whistling, and the screech of the rusty cell door makes scorching bile burn the back of my throat. I swallow twice to keep it down.
“Stone. Zolendz. Up-and-at-‘em. Going before the judge,” a deep voice bellows. I hate the man instantly.
I believe I moan out some sort of unintelligible sound, but I’m not sure. Who can be sure?
The dull bulb overhead flickers and makes a sizzling sound.
Damn, I’m in a place where even the bugs are killing themselves.
“Come on ladies, let’s go,” the voice yells. It’s closer now, and the body attached to it starts kicking the wooden bench I’m sitting on. I think my head is going to explode from the vibrations and violent crashes that echo through my head. “What’s the matter, not willing to offer up your goods this morning?”
My head snaps up, “Excuse me?”
The man standing over me is older, in his sixties with a long gray beard. His eyes dance with laughter. “Well, Ma’am. That’s what you tried to bribe us with last night when we put you in here. Your
.” He kind of shimmies a little and gives a few humps into the air. I vomit a little in my mouth.
“Oh my God.
Just don’t… just don’t pay any attention to anything I said, okay?” I mumble my mortification.
“You mean to tell me, you’ll be cancelling our hot date tonight?” he laughs, snidely, mocking me. “Come on, Darlin’. The judge is waiting on you both. No harm done last night, you both were quite intoxicated.”
“Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.” Slowly, I pull myself off the bench, every bone in my body screaming for a few more hours of silently sound sleep. And really, that stupid light bulb is annoying the Hell out of me; someone needs to shoot it.
“Angelisa,” I whisper and shake her awake. “Come on. We have to go. A judge wants to see us.”
“Blah… Ha. Ha. Very funny.
,” Angelisa groans and swats her hand at me. It falls to her side with a loud thwack against the metal rim of the bed.
“I can’t. Clear your head and think about last night. Think back. Go ahead,” I urge. She doesn’t. She remains motionless and silent; all but a small, low snore can be heard. “You seriously need to open your eyes right now, because we’re in trouble,” I hiss ominously.
Her head slowly turns toward me, eyes blinking open. They dart around the room and widen; a bubble of laughter escapes her lips. “We’re in jail, aren’t we?”
I smile and join in with her laughter, “We are, indeed, waking up together in a jail cell.”
“Damn it, I can’t go to prison. You know how horrible I look in stripes,” she whispers as she climbs up to her feet, grabbing onto my shoulder and using me for leverage.
“Quick,” I look around the cell and laugh, “anybody got a cell phone? I wanna take a
fie—post this to Twitter.”