Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I haven’t heard Kimmy use her brother’s full name in ages. No one uses that name since Van hated his name. I sigh, admitting defeat because I’ve already decided to bind my soul to hell with this mission. “Okay. Let’s just go and give Nanny a hand.”
We arrived two hours before the party was supposed to start in order to help Nanny set up. Van is away right now because she sent him out on errands with a list longer than her leg and impossible to fulfill—her words, quoted by Kimmy on the way here in the car.
Nanny is already anticipating her little helpers, and the front door bangs open. I’m totally enthralled by the sight of the diminutive, adorable woman with the banging older granny body encased in pink spandex leggings and a neon green spandex leotard. She’s thrown on a black fuzzy sweater, and she looks like she’s on her way to some really exciting jazzy ballet class. She’s recently gotten into the swing of ordering online, and her first major discovery was wigs. Tonight, she’s rocking a pink and blue cotton candy-looking number that goes down nearly to her waist. She’s secured it with a black headband with spikes protruding out the top. Somehow, she pulls the whole thing off. Plus, she has a better bum than I do. How is that fair?
I expected to be shocked and amazed when it comes to this crazy little old lady I love so much, but I wasn’t prepared for the ball of reddish beige fur that goes streaking out the door, heading straight for us.
“Ahhhhh!” Kimmy yells, ducking behind me. “Eat her! Eat her first! She’s tastier!”
The hairball stops short of me to launch itself off the ground. It leaps, long legs and curly fur sailing in the early evening breeze, and parkours off my chest, which knocks me back into Kimmy before throwing us both onto our asses. At least Kimmy takes the brunt of the fall. Karma is a real bitch. Turns out I’m not very tasty after all.
“Curly Cookie!” Nanny shouts from the door. “You get back here!”
We pick ourselves up. Kimmy dusts herself off, then swats my behind and inspects me for damage. I’m not hurt past my aching sternum and pride. “Christ, Nanny, what is that?” Kimmy yelps.
“I got a puppy! They’re supposed to be good for you. Lower blood pressure and all that. It gets you active and keeps you from getting lonely. Come inside. I’ll tell you about him while we bag up the popcorn for tonight.”
The entirety of the small bungalow smells like candied and caramel popcorn. It’s sticky and sweet in here, so much so that I’m tempted to stick out my tongue to see if I can taste the actual air. Nanny has all the bowls set out on the table, and she points over to the stack of clear plastic bags. “Gag ‘em and bag ‘em girls,” she cackles.
“I’m not sure you know what that actually means,” Kimmy quips wryly.
Nanny opens the door again for the puppy, who streaks in like a blur, skids out on the floor, and promptly starts licking its butthole. “You’ve got to watch this one. He’ll lick unattended assholes.”
Kimmy throws both hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh while I let mine out openly. What, pray tell, encompasses an unattended asshole? “His name’s Curly Cookie?”
The big butterscotch puddle on the floor looks to be a poodle, the big kind, crossed with something else. Poodles are supposed to be smart, and this dog seems like he’s going to be smart as a fox.
“Yup.” Nanny gets out a bag and starts jamming pink candied popcorn into it. Kimmy and I both approach the big wooden dining room table. I’m totally not taking any caramel. That stuff will never leave me alone if I touch it. I’m already accident-prone, so I let her have the pleasure. I take another candied batch instead. “Let me tell you all about him. He’s four months old now.” She’s beaming with pride, and it’s so adorable. “His favorite food is trash. He’s defined by his long gazelle legs and causing as much trouble as is earthy possible for one twenty-pound fur bag. He’s a poodle Irish Setter cross, as far as I know. His mom clearly found curly-haired males delightful.” She titters away at this.
Then, she continues, “His favorite hobbies include, as you can see, licking his own butt, shredding everything in sight, jumping seven feet in the air, and landing on whatever or whoever might, unfortunately, break his fall. Characteristics include extremely selective hearing. His major talent is vacuuming food up faster than any known beast. The perpetual smell of fart lingers around him at all times, and he makes ungodly strange noises in the middle of the night that lead you to believe he’s being tortured to death.” She glances over at the puppy, who is still pruning at his hind end. “Isn’t that right, Curly Curly Cookie? My big butterscotch cookie. My cookie dookie dookie.”