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CHAPTER 1
Muffy
It must be nice to be born with a sweet, normal name. A name that doesn’t ruin everything because it’s so incredibly god-awful.
“I need to change my name. It’s because of my name that Steve dumped me.” Muffy dumped her car keys on the table and sank down beside her BFF, Carla. She swiped at her puffy cheeks. She was well aware that her pale skin looked blotchy as hell and her tear ducts were so empty, they’d probably never produce liquid again. Her swollen tear-stained eyes felt like she’d stuck her face in a bad science experiment and the acid was currently eating away at all her vital tissues.
Her heart felt a little like that too. Or maybe that was just her pride. Getting dumped over something she had no control over didn’t exactly give a big self-esteem boost. Steve was the kind of guy a person could take home and introduce to their parents. He was the kind of guy who had a decent job, drove a nice car and owned his own place.
The small apartment she shared with Carla was a safe place. Carla herself was like the apartment. Safe. Loving. Caring. And currently, Carla had her hair wrapped in a blue fluffy towel that matched her extra blue, extra fluffy robe. Her cheeks were flushed pink from her bath earlier. It was Friday night. Carla, avowedly single, liked to light a candle, kick back, and dump half a bottle of bubble bath into the tub. Which should have been hell on her skin, but her skin was always perfect.
Despite Muffy’s world-ending news, Carla went right on stuffing popcorn into her mouth at an alarming rate. She wasn’t very good at it either. She missed her mouth and a few kernels dropped to the floor. She rolled her eyes at Muffy’s outburst, the way that only best friends who detest said man can roll their eyes.
“Did it ever occur to you that Steve breaking up with you was the best thing that could have happened?”
“No!” Muffy wailed. “I spent a year with him! A year of my life!”
“A year wasted on wrinkly old balls. You never did tell me if his pubes were grey or not.”
“Carla!”
“What?” Carla waggled her brows and stuffed another hand of popcorn into her mouth.
“His balls weren’t old or wrinkly. They were nice balls. Like, really nice ones. Like, perfect balls. And he didn’t have any pubes. He manscaped down there.’
“He ever dragged them across your face?”
“What?” Muffy’s mouth dropped open.
Carla shrugged. “I just don’t see the point in shaving your balls if you’re not going to drag them across a person’s face. Did you like- when you- you know- did you lick them?”
“No! Dear lord god, what is wrong with you?”
“See. No point in making them hairless. Speaking of balls… we have to take Mr. Twinkletoes to the vet tomorrow morning, so no food for him tonight after ten.”
On cue, their new rescue cat, a huge orange tabby that followed Carla home the week before, sauntered into the kitchen. The guy was the size of a house. He was missing both ears, from frostbite or ear mites or something. He only had half a tail and the end was covered in scars where the hair no longer grew. His body was flappy and saggy, and his coat was dull. In short, he was a mess. It didn’t stop him from having the kindest green eyes that Muffy had ever seen. Carla was a sucker when it came down to animals. She couldn’t stand lost causes in men, but cats- that was a different story. She’d scooped the ancient street cat up and promised him a better life.
“Mr. Twinkletoes!” Muffy extended her hand, but the cat sniffed at her and hissed before sauntering off. She turned back to Carla, shocked. “What’s gotten into him?”
“Oh, I told him this time tomorrow he’d be ball-less and flawless.”
“Carla! You can’t tell him something like that. You’ll scar him for life!”
“Nah.” Carla shoved in a handful of popcorn. She licked the butter off her fingers before dipping them back into the huge baking bowl for more. “Have you seen him? He looks like he can handle finally losing his baby-makers.”
“You’re terrible, you know that?”
“No way. I could have left him out there on the street in the frigid cold, but now he’s living the life. I was thinking about rescuing another and getting him a friend.”
“Well… the apartment does have a limit of two pets per place. We could get another.”
“You mean you wouldn’t be angry?”
“No, of course not. Maybe it would cheer me up. If I can’t get a man to stick, I’ll just turn into a crazy cat lady. God. I can practically feel my ovaries shriveling up as we speak.”
“You’re better off without losers in your life. Especially ones who insult your name. There isn’t anything wrong with your name.”
