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I raise my arm to shield myself from the constant assault of what I now realize are flying burgers, and then charge forward to slam the door shut before any more fire out.
“Now you make sense,” I say to the pile on the floor, before realizing that it actually makes even less sense.
How are burgers flying out of my cabinet like bats from a cave? It’s a mystery, but I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it all out once I’ve had a drink.
I pull open my refrigerator, push aside the jar of chocolate body paint, which I definitely didn’t buy at my last grocery shop, and grab myself a can of soda.
I gulp it down, my dehydrated body gratefully welcoming a liquid that doesn’t have 40% alcohol proof, and then release a satisfied sigh. Thirst quenched, I should now be able to figure out exactly what is going on with my life.
I look at the pile of burgers, still at a loss, then I spot the lamp lying on the floor and my memory comes flooding back in a powerful rush.
The bush, the lamp, the sexy-as-sin blue genie. But that was all a dream, wasn’t it? Am I still dreaming?
I pinch myself. It hurts. I pinch myself harder. It hurts even more, but other than that, nothing else happens.
I think I might need to accept this is real life.
I crouch down, feeling embarrassed about what I’m about to do even though I’m alone because it’s just so ridiculous.
Oh well. Here goes nothing. I rub the lamp, and the ruby gemstones immediately start to shimmer and the lamp glows bright gold.
It shakes uncontrollably, and then, in a puff of blue smoke the hot blue genie is back in my kitchen, and he’s even more gorgeous than my hungover brain remembered.
His shoulders are broad, his arms are cut with muscles, and his black hair is so shiny he should be in shampoo commercials. His look is so striking, and there’s something about his blue skin that makes my stomach flutter.
“You’re Zeno, right?” I ask as I rise from the floor, and he releases a rich chuckle that makes my skin prickle.
“Yes, Bethany. You sound uncertain. Are you still dubious of my existence?”
“No, I believe you’re real now,” I say, running my hand back through my hair. “It’s just a lot to process. Finding a genie and being granted wishes isn’t exactly something that happens a lot.”
“On the contrary, Bethany. I have been granting wishes for seventy-two millennia. This is most certainly something that happens a lot for me,” he says, arching one of his thick black eyebrows and offering me a wry smile. “The only difference here is that you are my first owner to doubt me.”
“I’m not your owner. That makes you sound like a dog or something. I just found your lamp, that’s all.”
He chuckles again, his dark eyes shimmering with amusement and two gorgeous dimples softening his chiseled face.
“I simply mean, Bethany, that most humans become rapacious when offered three wishes. You however became…”
He pauses and strokes his hand down his beard as he considers the correct wording, then finally settles on, “like a calamitous whirlwind.”
An ugly laugh barks out of me. I wasn’t expecting that description, but from the flashbacks of me sitting on the kitchen floor stuffing my face while defying his sensible suggestions, I have to admit he’s right.
“So, how do we go about undoing all my stupid wishes?” I ask, but I can tell from the way his dark eyebrows knit together that I’m not going to like the answer.
“Your wishes have been granted to your command. It is not within my power to revoke them,” he says, folding his thick arms over his chest.
“But I was drunk. Surely there are rules about that?” I argue, hoping that there is some kind of get-out clause in the genie instruction manual.
“The Romans believed wine to be a daily necessity, and the ancient Egyptians supped on fermented pomegranate. Most of my previous owners have been inebriated.”
“Surely some of them made dumb wishes too. Come on, what kind of stuff did they wish for?” I demand, putting my hand on my hip and jutting out my jaw petulantly. There’s no way I can be the only drunk person in history to have messed up their wishes.
“All manner of things. Pyramids, colosseums, roads. Cleopatra requested baths filled with milk. Maybe this was the most wasteful of previous wishes?” he says, smoothing his hand down his beard.
“Uggh. Milk baths weren’t wasteful, they were iconic,” I groan, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “So other people wished for wonders of the world and crucial infrastructure that advanced mankind, and I‘ve got dildos, burgers, and…wait, what even was my final wish?”
“Do you sincerely not remember?”
