Hangovers & Hot Flashes by Kim Gruenenfelder

Author:Kim Gruenenfelder [Gruenenfelder, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Geoghegan & Burke Publishing
Published: 2018-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

“Noooo…” I groan to my phone.

“I’m sorry," Vanessa argues. “But if a guy is sporting rolled up jeans or a man bun at forty-five, he’s got to go.”

“Not that," I tell her, immediately standing up. “I have to go. My dog walker just texted me. Apparently, my toilet exploded. And her Dad is on his way over.”

“Wait. John?” Michelle asks excitedly, sitting up straighter. “Kris’s Dad? The one you have a crush on?”

Another text beeps. “Noooo...” I repeat to my phone. Then I point to Michelle. “I mean yes. But shit, he says he may have to snake my lines.”

Zoe begins, “Man, I wish a guy I had a crush on would…”

“Stop it! It’s not funny! He’s going to find… God knows what he’ll find. I gotta go.”

And I book out of there.

Forty minutes later, I have pulled into my garage, and am racing into the kitchen to get to my guest bathroom toward the front of the house. When I walk in, I hear a bass thumping, and a woman’s voice crooning from my speakers…

One… don’t pick up the phone. You know he’s only calling ‘cuz he’s drunk and alone.

I miss the next line, but as I walk through my house, the woman continues to sing/advise me…

Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning. And if you’re under him, you ain’t getting over him.

When I get close to the bathroom, the stench hits me, and I almost throw up. It smells vaguely like the Portapotties from concerts in my youth. Nooooo…

As I approach the guest bathroom, Kris turns down the music, and walks up to me quickly, holding a towel around a very wet, freshly washed Tunny like he’s a newborn. “I swear I did not flush any tampons down your toilet," she tells me with all kinds of seriousness.

“I told you not to mention the tampons!” I hear John growl from my guest bathroom.

“I’m sure you didn’t," I assure her, trying to stay calm as I quickly assess the situation: my hardwood floors just outside the bathroom door are covered in bright white Frette towels. “Quite a mess here. Thanks for cleaning up. Although I have beach towels in…”

Kris grimaces. “Oh, believe me, I already used those. They’re in the wash. I used the kitchen towels, too. It was quite an explosion.”

And John was here to see all of it. Fantastic. Well, it’s been less than a week. How attached could I be?

John emerges from the bathroom, looking so hot in a T-shirt and jeans that a little part of me wakes up despite my mortification (and my menopause). “You need to sue your contractor," he tells me. “What kind of idiot redoes three bathrooms without snaking out the lines or replacing the toilets?”

“Uuuhhhh… Me?” I say, wincing a little in embarrassment.

John looks surprised, so I quickly rush to explain, “Well, everything was just costing so much money. And you want your money to go to production value, not studio overhead.

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