Sit back and relax? Are you frigging kidding!

by

Amy Baker

I’m not quite sure when it happened or why for that matter. I know I never requested one. Who in their right mind would consciously request one? But I am thinking that at some juncture a buzzer was surgically implanted in my ass.

Why do I surmise such a procedure has taken place without my consent or knowledge?  Because every time I sit down someone or something needs my immediate attention! They don’t require my assistance while I am standing. No. It is always as soon as my butt hits a cushion.

At one point, I thought perhaps there were cameras strategically placed in the room where I had dared chosen to take a break from working, cooking, cleaning or laundry. But since the dogs have gotten in on the fun and they don’t know how to work cameras I’m thinking the buzzer makes the most sense. It must emit a high-pitched sound that stirs the animals in the house and gets them in on the action.

For example . . . just the other night I’d had a long day filled to the brim with work, dinner, laundry and kids. I’d tidied up and did a walk about the house to ensure myself of an uninterrupted moment of sheer mindless television viewing.  I made it to the family room hoping to indulge in one of the few small pleasures that I allow myself once a week.

Already well accustomed to the buzzer sounding as soon as my cotton-covered cheeks met chenille covered couch cushion, I remembered to grab BOTH cell and house phones.

I shimmied between the coffee table and loveseat began to lower myself just as Gordon Ramsay tore into one of his restaurant contestants. The promise of my bottom hitting the couch loomed and I sighed knowing that there was little that could foil my plans. I had been thorough; leaving nothing to chance.

I fell toward the cushion anticipating the feel of the smooth soothing fabric engulfing me. And then I landed.

Touch down.

That was when my Rottweiler peeled herself from her club chair and hurled all over the carpet.

Since I had barely hit the cushion I was able to rebound off the springs and back to standing. I walked over to my girl and patted her on the head, “Are you okay, Baby?” Of course she didn’t answer (I’m not so deluded that I actually thought that she would answer, just crazy enough to conceive the buzzer theory).

I went to get paper towels but found the roll empty. I reached for a new pack and tore into the hermetically sealed plastic that encased them. God forbid something should infiltrate a roll of paper towels!

Figuring some bizarre occurrence would happen on my way back to the vomit, I took two rolls back just in case. I grabbed some spray from the utility closet and went to clean the mess. As soon as I was done cleaning and scrubbing the carpet, I washed my hands at the sink and made my way back to the family room. Then I collapsed into the cushion for the second time, essentially setting off my ass buzzer: the phone started ringing.

I looked around the room before remembering I’d taken them with me to collect the paper towels. Without swearing (yeah, right!) I heaved myself up and retraced my steps towards them. Of course, the phone stopped ringing the moment I found it. I checked the caller ID.

I called my mother back and the phone rang and rang and rang. Where the heck was she? How far could she have gone? Just before the voicemail kicked in my mother answered the phone breathlessly. I asked if everything was okay because she sounded like she’d just climbed Mt Everest in record time. She told me not to be such a smartass that she was running around the house looking for her phone because she forgot where she had left it and she had just sat down to watch some TV.

Hmm. Maybe it was a two for one deal.

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Introducing...

The Dream Weaver

Anda, like a lot of people, detests her job. She's been trying to get fired for as long as she could remember and goes out of her way to blow off every assignment that she is given. But when one of her "missions" ends badly, well more badly than usual, her boss who happens to be her mother "drops" her into the fray hoping she will learn her lesson. But the only lesson she is about to learn is how fast she can fall for a smokin' sexy aviation engineer.

Sam Miller is the oldest Miller brother. He is successful, handsome and wants for very little having reached many of his goals by the ripe old age of 25. But when he sets his gaze on Anda, his brother's new counselor he can't believe his eyes. For the first time in his life Sam is fearful that he might not get what he wants. He's also a Dream Weaver? Something he doesn't like to mention.

The Dream Weaver is an original, funny and meant for a mature reader. The language is a bit salty too. You'll laugh, whimper (not cry) and fan yourself all at the same time! Don't pass it up.