Do you need a little humor to boost your mood after watching all the junk on the news lately? Are you looking for a fun, poolside read? I have the perfect solution to kickstart your summer with some much needed laughter. For a limited time, you can STEAL MY SPANDEX at the low price of just .99 cents for the ebook version, which is available on Amazon and on Barnes & Noble.Just so you know that you're spending that .99 cent wisely (instead of hitting up the Dollar Store for a seashell soap dish), I'm sharing one of my favorite chapters from the book as a sneak preview to help convince you that your money will be well spent on a few hours of humor:
SLEEPUS INTERRUPTUS
I love my quiet weekends. They give me license to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes—napping. When the lunch dishes are cleared and my schedule is free, I retire to my private little paradise under a stack of blankets and pillows. Once I close my bedroom door, the family KNOWS not to disturb me. They understand all too well that if my beauty rest is interrupted, they'll be dealing with a haggard ogre, and the consequences for waking me will be swift and painful.
Most weekends I can steal a little shut-eye by midafternoon. I'm a firm believer in a three-hour siesta. But lately, uncontrollable outside forces have been messing with the sweet slumber I so desperately crave. No, I’m not referring to young children screeching or running through the house. What I’m referring to are things like the obnoxious neighborhood ice cream truck that takes sadistic pleasure in blaring “Pop Goes the Weasel” from massive speakers as it drives repeatedly past my home. The driver’s timing is always precise—just as I am in the throes of a deliciously sexy dream, about to lock lips with George Clooney: POP GOES THE WEASEL!
At times like this, I grit my teeth against the sudden urge for an orange Creamsicle, burrow deeper under the covers, and wait for the offending truck to pass. Just when I start to slip back into the land of Nod, the doorbell rings and the dogs go insane. Over their incessant barking, a salesman tries to convince me that I need to switch cable companies and add an additional 500 channels to the existing 700 I already have. Hey, I never get the chance to sleep, so why not have even more opportunities to live vicariously through the people testing out Tempur-Pedic mattresses on late-night infomercials?
The salesman leaves, and I finally get the chance to drift back into the slumber I have been looking forward to all week. I never know how much time passes—it could be two hours or two minutes—but inevitably, the next-door neighbor who won last year's Curb Appeal Award will decide to do a little creative landscaping. As he trims the base of his perfectly squared hedge with a weed-whacker, small stones ricochet loudly off my bedroom window. It sounds like a woodpecker on steroids. I'd rather sleep in a room filled with chocolate-wasted toddlers than listen to the torturous cacophony of flying debris from my neighbor's new lawn toy.
I decide to give napping one more shot when suddenly I find myself baking in a four hundred and seventy-five degree oven. Who invited the freaking sun into my bedroom? Within seconds, I'm bathed in a puddle of sweat and riding out the aftershocks of a merciless hot flash.
Giving up on the fantasy of a three-hour nap, I stagger into the kitchen for a jolt of caffeine to push me through the rest of the day. Peering around the corner, I see my husband sleeping peacefully on the couch, his lips puffing out with each whistling exhale. I hear the TV in the background—a testosterone-infused program on cage fighting—and marvel at his ability to sleep through doorbells, barking dogs, and men locked in combat. Actually, I'm a wee bit jealous. Okay, a LOT jealous.
Deciding that it really wouldn't be fair for my well-rested husband to be stuck with a wife who resembles a troll, I wake him from sleep. He opens one eye, peers up at me, and smiles. I hand him a cup of coffee and flop down beside him on the couch. He channel surfs like a kid with severe ADD before settling on the Discovery Channel. Grinning, he wraps his arms around me, and I snuggle against his warmth. Within minutes, I drift into blessed slumber.
I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than nodding off during a television documentary about the sleeping habits of wombats, while curled in the arms of the man I love.
Don't you feel better now after laughing? I thought so. What are you waiting for? Buy the book while it's still on sale. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT! **Sale ends June 8, 2017**
BUY IT HERE:
AMAZON
BARNES & NOBLE
