Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass, Or, Why You Should Never Carry a Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office : A Memoir by Jen Lancaster

Author:Jen Lancaster [Lancaster, Jen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Unemployed women workers, Job Hunting, Humorous fiction, Business & Economics, Careers, Biography, Jeanne, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, United States, Women
ISBN: 9780451217608
Google: CfmZwSyNrTEC
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2006-07-15T23:58:36.025000+00:00

PART TWO

Pandora

Opening the Box

From the desk of Miss Jennifer A. Lancaster

Jen’s Post-Wedding To-Do List:

Find a job!

Stop frivolous spending.

Lose weight.

Fix up Courtney and Brett.

It’s the first day of my honeymoon, and the phone is ringing. I’ve barely slept. Fletch passed out immediately after our fight, but I was too mad to sleep and only dozed off as the sun rose. Groggily, I pick up the receiver. “Someone better be dead.”

“Jennifer!” Oh, great. It’s my mother and I can already tell she’s in a state. “Todd told us what happened! Are you getting a divorce?”

“Excuse me?”

“Todd’s here and he said you had a huge fight with Fletch.”

This has got to be a joke. “Why are you calling me at”—I lift my head and squint at the digital clock, “seven a.m. to pry into my day-old marriage? I’m going back to sleep now. GOOD-BYE.” I bang down the phone.

Two minutes later, the phone rings again. “What?”

“GOOD MORNING, FLETCH’S WIFE! HOW THE HELL ARE YA?” Five foot ten, 225 pounds, steroid-free, and without an ounce of fat, Joel is the toughest guy I’ve ever met. But all that extra testosterone means he tends to speak in capital letters, and right now I’m not in the mood for a (VERY LOUD) chat. At some point while I slept, Fletch—still wearing most of his wedding garb—crawled into bed with me. I shake him and hand him the phone. “Deal with this.”

Fletch doesn’t dare defy me. “Hello? Oh, hey, Joel…Yeah, thanks…What? I’m not sure…. Sorry, I don’t think that’s a good idea…. You know, you missed the whole reception? You’re kidding…. You’re kidding! That’s unbelievable…. OK…OK…All right, see you at home. Bye.”

Curiosity supersedes my fury, and I demand to know what Joel said.

“You’re speaking to me?” Fletch asks tentatively.

“For now.”

“First he called to tell us he’s in the lobby. He wants to spend the day together.”

“No fucking way.”

“I assumed as much. Then he told me what happened to him last night after he left our room. He tried to get back in the reception but the bouncers wouldn’t let him—they said he was too drunk—so he decided to take a nap again. In the landscaping. The police found him, and they brought him back to his hotel.”

“Maybe when the police here find someone passed out in the bushes, they figure, ‘This guy has thoroughly enjoyed everything Vegas has to offer’ and they’re nice to him.”

“I think he got lucky.”

Funny, but just having a simple conversation reminds me how much I love Fletch. Even though I’m still upset, I decide to forgive him for last night. I’m not happy with some of the choices he made, but I may have let my mother’s situational insanity (and that bovine bouncer) unduly influence my mood.

Also, I did ruin his laptop. “Fletch?”

“Yeah?” He takes off the rest of his tuxedo and changes for bed. The sight of him in his SpongeBob jammies pants completely thaws my heart.

“I’m sorry for throwing your computer.”

“That’s OK.”

“And I’m sorry for overreacting.”

“You didn’t overreact. You were completely justified.

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