Fisher Amelie's Blog
July 12, 2017
Dear Miss Meddlesome – Volume 4
Welcome to this week’s edition of Dear Miss Meddlesome! I hope you all had a fabulous and safe Fourth! Let’s get started!
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
Recently reconnected with a boy I had a crush on from 4th grade through most of my school years. Haven’t talked to this boy since we were 14! We started talking recently and there was a connection! Only thing is he has 3 kids, and works out of town a lot. I agreed to go out with him when he came back to town, only when he came back he never hit me up. This happened twice, and this last time he texted me, I texted back, and then poof! Nothing. He sees all my things on Instagram but I’m sure I’ve been ghosted! Should I hit him up to see what happened, or accept my state and move on??
Dear I Know I’m Not Just Building Up Someone From My Past,
Congratulations. You’ve found your soul mate. Though your last serious interaction with this boy was when you were just fourteen, it’s important to recognize that at that age, we’ve really come into ourselves as people, defined definitively who we’re really going to be, and know everything there is to know about ourselves. Your memories of this boy and your current expectations of him are perfectly sound.
I’m assuming from your submission that texting is your primary form of communication, so it makes sense you felt a ‘connection’, as you say. Many a deeply formed friendship has occurred over texting, and your case, I’m sure, is no different. There’s nothing more meaningful than stilted conversation full of emojis and acronyms. GIKHCAMBHSMAWSF! (Girl, I know he cares about me because he sent me a winking smiley face!)
Him: Yo
You: Hey, old classmate, whom I haven’t seen in fifteen years. How are you?
Him: Good. Good. Just busy.
You: It’s been awhile. You must be exactly the same.
Him: I’m exactly the same, yeah. I mean, I did get married and stuff, but my old lady was a drag so I was like, peace out, yo! lol I can’t be tied down to this! I’ve also got a couple of kids too. So in that way, I guess I’m different. Also, I’ve got a few priors, but, again, no big deal. Pleaded out, so I’m good. Still on probation, but I’m on the up and up. Oh! I also have this weird fetish that would put me in jail if anyone found the images, but other than that, I’m exactly the same.
You: Like, oh my gawd! You haven’t changed a bit! So funny! #Revertigo
Him: Yeah, you know me!
*Five hours later, 2 a.m.*
Him: What are you up to?
You: Watching a movie.
Him: Cool. We should really hang out soon.
You: Yeah, let’s go out! What are you doing tomorrow?
Him: Well, I’m headed out of town tomorrow so…
You: That sucks
Him: Yeah, I work out of town a lot and really just have late nights available. We can hang out tonight, if you want
You: I’m about to go to bed, but hit me up when you get back?
Him: *radio silence*
You totally have not been ghosted. A guy saying he’ll take you out once he returns from out of town, then doesn’t call you, doesn’t necessarily mean he won’t eventually call. I’m willing to bet when he’s exhausted all other options for fun and companionship, he’ll finally give you a ring! How exciting!
This is what you need to do. Text him over and over. Ask him why he didn’t call and what you could have done differently. Tell him you’ll let him copy your homework in Biology! Just please, please, please pay attention to you!
When he calls and I have no doubt he will, keep your schedule as open as possible. Make yourself as available as you can, foregoing legit meaningful relationships. I mean, you guys had an online/text connection! Meanwhile, to pass the time, shop wedding dresses online.
Good luck! So excited for you!
Submissiveness is key,
Miss Meddlesome
p.s. Don’t forget! Self worth has no place in modern society anymore.
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
I have 4 kids, but my mother in law treats only one as her favorite. With every birthday card, she will send her favorite some money on the side. She sends packages of gifts addressed only to her favorite. It breaks my heart when my boys (who aren’t her favorite) check the mail those days. She has 8 grandchildren. I wish her favorite was not one of mine. And so does her guilt-ridden favorite. I need advice on how to handle this.
Signed, The floor is lava
Dear Hater,
Throwing shade on granny, huh? Listen, everyone has their favorite, okay? It’s not a big deal. So what if your boys have to watch their sibling open gifts and receive cash, while they don’t even get a phone call from their beloved, sweet, benevolent grandmother. They need to understand that life isn’t fair and now is as good a time as any to learn that lesson.
Frankly, your MIL sounds like a saint to me, but whatever. Why not let her bestow her generosity where it pleases? You want things to be “fair” and “principled,” but what is fair? What is principled? Aren’t these just subjective ideologies, really? Morals aren’t meant to be defined so stringently. Gaw!
This is my advice to you. Call the old hag up and apologize. Tell her you appreciate how she’s singled out your kid for the Hunger Games, I mean gifts, that you’re ever so grateful she’s volunteered your kid as tribute, and let your little Katniss compete for the heart of the sponsor. Have her thank President Snow profusely for her generosity. Don’t argue. Don’t present fact. Don’t offer rational thought. This is forbidden!
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention how important it is that your husband not say anything to check his mother. Men should have no responsibility when it comes to their children or their parents, so he absolutely should not show his mother how ludicrous you/he “thinks” she’s acting or how her unfair treatment of her grandchildren will give them all complexes. It’s also extremely important for you to give every gift your child receives to said child. It would be crazy to stem it all from even becoming an issue by keeping the gifts from them. I mean, it’s not like your husband would be able to explain to his mother why you’re both uncomfortable alienating the rest of your children, right? Right.
So, to recap, send your MIL a pound of Nightlock berries as a thank you, you ungrateful cur.
May the odds be ever in your favor,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
I filed for divorce in January. Since, I’ve basically become my husband’s girlfriend. It’s mostly a secret. My reasons for filing are super legit and important (alcoholism/scaring the kids/not holding a steady job), but I love him. His family thinks I’m playing him and should let him move back in, so they’re causing drama on Facebook and won’t let him stay there. And now he’s practically homeless. I can’t cave because all he’s fixed is the drinking, though I have trust issues regarding that now. So.. what should I do?
Dear After College Rory Gilmore,
I don’t understand what the problem is. Listen, he sounds like a winner to me, okay? His family is absolutely right here. You need to put aside all your needless fretting and invite the poor bloke back home. If he gets into a drunken rage after buying alcohol from the money he stole from your purse and starts to scare your children, just lock them in a back room with the television on full blast until he sobers up. It’s better to have this gem at home than to give your kids a stable life.
You say you love him and I can totally understand this. What’s not to love? It should be easy to look past someone with substance abuse issues. I mean, it’s not as if he’s scaring the kids when he’s sober, right? Take a chill pill, baby!
There is one thing I am a little confused about, though. Why won’t his incredibly kind, perfect family let him stay at their homes? I mean, he’s obviously such a great guy and you are truly playing him. It makes perfect sense that they tout his saintliness all over Facebook, probably alluding to the fact that you are the devil himself, but aren’t allowing him to stay at their houses, I guess. I mean, the only explanation is that they’re trying to teach you a lesson, which I can totally see. There’s no way they’re pushing him your way and vilifying you online to keep him away from themselves and their homes. They’d probably be more than happy to let him live there for free, you know, not paying rent, not contributing at all. They probably wouldn’t have a problem with this at all. It’s really about getting you to come to your senses. You’re the one who needs to change.
He’s not taking advantage of the fact that you love him or anything, either. These past six months he may or may not have quit drinking, so there’s that. In five years he might have a job! In ten, when the kids are gone, he can’t scare them anymore. See? It’s fine!
Let’s face it, you’re not going to get any better than a jobless guy who drinks to excess then scares your children, okay? His family is not bullying you at all. They’re just trying to do what’s best for themselves- I mean, him- I mean, you and your kids.
Self-worth is for suckas,
Miss Meddlesome
Have a personal problem you really need help with? Miss Meddlesome will try her hardest to ruin your life with spectacularly bad advice. Submit here! It’s 100% anonymous!
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances should you actually follow this crap advice. If you do, you’re an idiot.
When Miss Meddlesome isn’t meddling, she’s writing as Fisher Amelie…
Find Fisher on Barnes & Noble!
June 28, 2017
Dear Miss Meddlesome, Volume 3
Welcome to this week’s edition of Dear Miss Meddlesome! Let’s get started!
I got a dog and people are being really judgmental about it because she’s not from a shelter. I have allergies and had to choose a specific type of dog. I looked for one to adopt and couldn’t find one. I do feel guilty, and their hateful comments make me feel even worse. How do I tell people to mind their own business so I can enjoy my new pal?
–Stop Judging Me *sneezes*
Dear Murderer of All That is Holy and Pure,
I think it’s time you came to terms with the fact that everyone around you must have a say in every aspect of your life. I mean, really, it’s a little ridiculous you haven’t understood and adopted this concept yet. You, who adopt so carelessly.
First, I think you need to send handwritten apologies to every single person on your friend’s list, begging for their forgiveness. If social media has taught us anything, it’s that we have a responsibility to account for and publish every action we take. When someone demands you tell them personal aspects of your life, then you must divulge them, then endure their bitter scrutiny of every minute detail of every single thing you do. After all, though you searched for a compatible adoptable dog, you didn’t actually adopt one that has the potential to blow your face up to the size of a watermelon and this is wrong according to the well-informed, sanctimonious, and virtuous members of Facebook. These people are perfect and you must be subject to their inspection.
You need to return this dog now. Allergies be damned! Who cares what will happen to it now. Then, go to the shelter and get a dog that isn’t compatible with you. As we know, shelter dogs don’t deserve owners who can properly take care of them. So what if you won’t be able to pet it, sit with it, stand near it, share a room with it. Dogs aren’t beneficial companions and don’t deserve genuine affection. Your dog is there to represent you! Remember, brand! Brand! Brand!
If you can’t say, “My dog is from such-and-such shelter, which means I am so socially conscious you should build a freaking statue in my honor!” then you aren’t a real person.
In the immortal words of the incredibly talented Black Eyed Peas, Packaged up with incense sticks. With them vegetarian meals. To you, that’s righteous.
And it is. So, take a selfie with the new shelter dog- oh, wait, you can’t, can you? Well, just Photoshop a duck-lips selfie with your new dog and post it for the world to see because that world has a right see. Remember that. You must keep up appearances.
You’re Abe Froman? The Sausage King of Chicago?,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
I pooped myself at work at my desk and had no idea what to do because there were people around everywhere. It clicked in my head finally that my only option was to get up and run as fast as I could to the exit of the building. I work on the 5th floor which requires me take an elevator down. I got up as quickly as I could and ran past 10 to 15 desk and other co-workers on my way out. I’m not sure if anything was left behind. I unfortunately was wearing a thong and a skirt this day. I had to wait for the elevator and my worst nightmare came true, 5 other people were on as the doors opened. I got in and kept my eyes to the ground. I’m sure they noticed the smell. What should I do?! This happened on a Friday and I don’t even know if I should return to work. Please help.
Signed,
Captain Underpants
Dear Todd Packer,
I’ll be honest, when I first read this, I thought, this chick is full of crap.
So, it’s a shitty situation, no doubt. Let’s dump everything aside, though, and get down to the brown, so to speak.
I believe you did the right thing by running away from your problem. I’m a big proponent of running away from your problems. There isn’t a better way to avoid responsibility, in my opinion, and since responsibility is the debil, it’s a win/win!
Let’s address how to handle returning to work. I’m confident that whatever trail was left, was more than likely looked over on the way out. And, I mean, let’s be honest, poop isn’t an overpowering smell or anything, so I doubt they even noticed. Besides, R.Kelly’s Ignition Remix is on a constant loop in their heads by this time. Except for that one guy Tom. Tom has R. Kelly’s Trapped in the Closet on loop in his head and, well, that explains a lot about Tom. Anyway, it’s the freakin’ weekend, baby! They’re about to have them some fun! Lumbergh’s having a barbecue and he serves up a mean burger. #JumptoConclusionsMat Basically, they were distracted, I’m sure of it.
So, on Monday, when you walk in, I would go for casual. Waltz in there in the morning like you hadn’t shat yourself, that runny excrement played no part in your day that Friday. More than likely your chair is gone and the carpet removed in a specific line that goes directly from your cubicle to the elevators, but it’s best to pretend that doesn’t exist. Play if off with a casual hum as you balance on that yoga ball you bought years ago to sit on but let sit underneath your desk instead, because you looked stupid balancing on it and it was hard not to fall backward.
When your co-workers ask what happened to you that Friday, say, “What? Huh? Oh, Carl, you’re crazy! What in the Sam Hill could you be talking about?” Then you run. Every time someone comes up to you, run. Eventually no one will wonder what happened anymore, but start to wonder if you’re insane or not. It’s better to appear insane, as opposed to someone who can’t hold their bowels.
Strike fear, not laughter, I always say.
It’s Rosy the nosy neighbor (A side of Pepto, if you get that),
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
The hubs and I are considering offering to take one of my sister-in-law’s children with us next year when we go to Walt Disney World on family vacation. She’s a single mother and cannot afford to take her children. The problem is, the SIL is an ungrateful a-hole and we can only afford to take one extra child. She has accused us in the past of playing favorites with her kids and caused a huge family kerfuffle that won’t be forgotten any time soon. We would want to take the 10-year-old with us because we feel it’s her last chance to enjoy the magic of Disney before she outgrows it. The 5-year-old will have other opportunities, I’m sure. Is there any way we can do this without it backfiring in our faces or should we just forget it?
Sincerely,
Hoping to Avoid Disney Disaster
Dear Auntie Dearest,
Of course, you are most definitely in the right here. In no way is excluding the five year old the wrong thing to do. I feel like I can’t reiterate this enough. Your generosity should really be the main focus here as well and I’m shocked this mother has issues with your willingness to alienate one of her children. Back to your generosity, though, because this is the most important factor here. You’re magnanimous beyond belief. Your sister-in-law is indeed an asshole, if she dares to find fault with your logic. So what if her five year old will be stuck swimming in the local swimming hole while their sibling is gallivanting about Magic Kingdom, rubbing shoulders with Mickey Mouse. It’s not like you can afford to take both! You are in no way playing favorites. Why can’t she get this through her thick skull?
The solution is an easy one. Sit both the ten year old and the five year old down together and explain that you aren’t playing favorites, but you want to take one of them to Walt Disney World! When you reveal it’s the ten year old, after jumping up and down and screaming in excitement, turn to the five year old and say, “Maybe if your deadbeat mother wins the lottery, you’ll be able to go one day, but this year isn’t your year, kid.” End your proud speech with some cackling. I believe this will really send home how you’re not playing favorites, but, again, just trying to be generous. Explain to the five year old that it’s not that you don’t want to take them, but you can only afford one and your favorite, I mean, heh heh, the ten year old may not enjoy it as much if they went later, which should make perfect sense to the five year old. When they start crying, and that is, I think we can both agree, like, totally annoying, tell them they need to stop being so selfish already! Tell them to be rational. After all, offers for Disney World trips come around all the time and they need to stop their belly-aching!
When you really think about it, your blatant exclusion of the younger one is an important life lesson every child needs to learn and you can’t put a price on that. Leaving them both at home, blissfully unaware of your nefarious, I mean, generous plot, is absolutely not an option, either. Also, it’s not like you can get other family members to pitch in to pay for the five year old’s tickets and incidentals or anything. It’s better to leave the younger child at home with their shattered hopes. Disney World is for dreamers.
I commend you on your disaffection for the five year old. It’s not anyone who can callously toss aside a kindergartner for a trip to Disney that may or may not ever come. I mean, it’s their fault for having a mother who can’t afford to take them!
So take the ten year old to the greatest place on earth and maybe buy a little trinket for that other one.
Have a magical day!
Miss Meddlesome
Have a personal problem you really need help with? Miss Meddlesome will try her hardest to ruin your life with spectacularly bad advice. Submit here! It’s 100% anonymous!
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances should you actually follow this crap advice. If you do, you’re an idiot.
When Miss Meddlesome isn’t meddling, she’s writing as Fisher Amelie…
Find Fisher on Barnes & Noble!
June 22, 2017
Dear Miss Meddlesome, Volume 2
Good morning, you guys! Welcome to the second edition of Dear Miss Meddlesome. Buckle up. Let’s begin.
Hey, Miss Meddlesome, I am in labor with my first baby. Yay! Problem is, my husband keeps making dad jokes in the delivery room. Should this have already started? I thought he was supposed to grow a dad bod before the cheesy jokes started or at least wait until the delivery of the baby himself?
-Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That
Dear I Didn’t Grab No Shoes or Nothin’, Jesus!
You seem a little busy so I’ll keep this short. From what I can tell from my very minimal online research, my light skimming of headlines, and investing in articles written by people with no expertise whatsoever, I’ve come to the conclusion that Dad Jokes are the result of a serious medical condition known as “Daditis.” Symptoms of Daditis include mowing lawns in short shorts and dress socks, wondering out loud why everyone wants to go to McDonald’s when there’s lunch meat and individually wrapped slices of cheese in the fridge, wearing promotional t-shirts from Yahoo, recording five minute videos of squirrels eating bird seed from their bird feeders, driving $2 worth of gas to avoid a $2 ATM fee, keeping the thermostat at a balmy eighty degrees, and every time someone opens the back door screams, “We’re not paying to cool the outside!” These are just some of a myriad of symptoms that can manifest with Daditis. It’s a common misconception, though, that dads grow a dad bod before Daditis afflicts the part of the brain that keeps their foot out of their mouths. Although similar to Foot in Mouth Syndrome, it is not the same, and misdiagnoses have been a problem. Symptoms of Daditis can show up as soon as the mother’s second trimester, but is rare, and could be attributed to the father’s age.
This is all moot, though, if your husband is just naturally cheesy, which is what I suspect in your case. Tell him to “Cut! It! Out!” That’s a Full House reference. If you aren’t familiar with this reference, just ask your husband, he’ll be able to explain it and probably better than I ever could. #BobSagetisSurprisinglyDirtyForHavingHadSuchAPopularFamilyTelevisionShow
Some suggestions for gifts for Father’s Day:
- A cheese knife
That’s all I got.
Get the Epidural,
Miss Meddlesome
p.s. Contractions suck thumb tacks. Just had to put that out there. Camaraderie.
Note to my readers: She had her baby. He is SO cute!
Dear Miss Meddlesome: My sister is always flirting with my husband. I don’t know how far she’ll go to get his attention. What should I do?
Dear Sister Wife,
“It ain’t no fun if the homies can’t have none. ” ― Snoop Dogg
Seriously, though, ew. I’m sure you’ve heard talk of the importance of open communication with family. To that, I say, duck no. Go to your mom and dad and tell on her, throw in a foot stomp if you have to, ’cause your sister needs a time out. In a vat of mayonnaise. Because it’s gross. And she’ll smell disgusting for a minimum of three days, no matter how many times she showers. If mom and dad won’t lay down the law, though, I’ve an alternative.
Feed your husband sardines with raw onion every meal and right before your sister comes over for visits. Dress him like Bret Michaels on Rock of Love. Make him memorize, then regurgitate, in a monotonous tone, endless variations of blackjack card counts, the statistical evidence behind the practice, and the intimate details of every card counter that’s ever been banned by any casino, ever. When your sister tries to run from him, which she surely will, because he’ll smell like old fish and onion and rankle her like Screech bugs Lisa , encourage your husband to follow her around, carrying on the conversation. Even if she goes to the bathroom, have him stand in the hall and speak through the door.
Once she’s escaped, I mean, left, have him send a series of texts citing facts about the MIT Blackjack Team of 1980. Have him continue these updates until she blocks him.
Eventually she will lose interest and you’ll be left with a man who knows entirely too much about card counting and smells of sardines and raw onion, but he’ll be your man who knows entirely too much about card counting and smells of sardines and raw onion.
Good luck in Vegas. You might as well put that knowledge to use.
I also like to live dangerously,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Ms Meddlesome,
I am an elementary music teacher (relevant to the problem). A new place opened up close to my house that does personal grooming, you know nails, pedi’s, waxing, etc. I decided to take the plunge and get a wax for summer. And I don’t mean my eyebrows. I was gonna get the full monty, if you know what I mean. So I go in and tell the lady at the counter what I want. I whisper it and hope God and my dead Grandma can’t hear it. She takes me back to the little waxing room. It has soft lighting, candles, etc. Very relaxing place to get your most private little hairs ripped from your body. She tells me to strip, put on the robe and how to get on the table on my hands and elbows. In a few minutes, there is a quiet knock and a “you ready miss?” When the waxer comes in, I keep facing the front, head down. After she has done her thing and I have bitten a hole in my lip, I turn around to lie and say “it wasn’t that bad”. And who is at the business end of my whoo-ha but the mom of one of my students. Neither one of us took it well. Now I have to face her again when school starts back because I have her son and daughter for the next several years. Should I quit my job, put a for sale sign in my yard, change faces with Nicolas Cage? Help!
Signed me,
Bald, Breezy and Embarrassed
Dear Steve Carell in 40-Year-Old-Virgin,
Welp. This is probably the worst position you could have put yourself in. Tee hee. Let’s address the fact you didn’t immediately say, “You saw mine, now I get to see yours.” This is unfortunate and would have alleviated a lot of future issues, but what’s done is done.
First thing you need to do is call this woman in for a lengthy chat. Face to face. I feel like I need to clarify that. Sit her down in your classroom, remember to get close to her, uncomfortably close. This will make you both face your discomfort with one another head on. Ask her the following…
How did you get into waxing?
Is this something you’ve always wanted to do? You know, wax people’s stuffy stuff?
Do you ever get wax stuck on your fingers? How do you get that stuff off?
Now, throw in a random compliment…
Little Billy is doing really well in my class. He’s only peed his pants twice this year. Quite the improvement from last year.
Then back to the interrogation…
Would your family like to come over for dinner? I make a nice shaved ham. As do you, I must say. (Another compliment.) #NailedIt
In doing this, you’ll prune away all future awkwardness.
I think I’ve sufficiently sheared this down.
Miyagi out,
Miss Meddlesome
p.s. When all else fails, remember “hell hath no fury like a woman shorn.”
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
I recently found out my boyfriend of 6 years has an online dating profile. What do I do? We share everything. Money, car, house, nothing is just mine. I’m a little scared and a lot of pissed.
Dear Craigslist For Sale: Torture Devices,
Roll your sleeves up, ’cause it’s on like Donkey Kong. Channel your inner Sandra Bullock, baby, we’re going for the blindside.
Create a profile on this dating site for slimeballs. Make it, like, someone he would never turn down ever, right? Since Dim-Wit is a douche, it probably needs to be someone who wouldn’t know the difference between a veterinarian and a vegetarian. You know, someone who asks questions like, “Is this chicken that I have, or is this fish?” Then, acting as this knock-off handbag, approach Dim-Wit online. Get him to agree to meet you at a certain time, at a certain place. When he confirms, and you know he will, because, as we know, he’s a dillweed, send out invites for every single one of his family members saying it’s a surprise party for him. This is where it gets tricky. If it’s close to his birthday, then you have your out. If it isn’t, make something up, like “Hey, I’m proposing to Dim-Wit and I want you all to be there, but it’s a surprise! Shh!” Then, when he shows up, expecting to meet Made Up Hot Pants, you bring him in to meet all his family! Have a microphone handy, letting everyone know what you found out and why he’s there with everyone, hand the microphone over to him and let him do some explaining.
As in every delicious revenge recipe, though, there must be some prep.
It’s common knowledge that online attorneys can be trusted implicitly and according to Ditch, Hymn, Quick, & Hyde, you cannot legally remove yourself from a lease without the leasing partner and the landlord approving. This is a problem. You know, because we don’t want him to see this one coming. Because, again, he’s a dillweed. It’s okay, though, because I found a loophole. Though you are legally and financially responsible for your half of the lease, usually, there’s nothing that says you aren’t able to find a subtenant.
Step one. Find a subtenant so nauseating, he puts Edgar from Men in Black to shame. “Sugar. Water.” This alleviates you from all financial obligations in a roundabout way and provides you with the utter relief that Dim-Wit will have to suffer living with a disgusting stranger. In your ad, mention men with foot fetishes are welcome.
Step two. Pick a day for the showdown.
Step three. On said day, empty your bank account, save for one penny. #Mwuahahaha
Step four. Sell your car. To a friend. For a $1. Leave a copy of the bill of sale and fifty cents behind in an envelope. Have Edgar deliver it when he moves in, if you want.
Step five. Hire movers. Hot movers. Have them take all the furniture, every piece of food, every belonging in the whole damn house. All of it. Even the dust.
Step six. Go live yourself one beautiful, gosh damn life. Without Dim-Wit.
Have a personal problem you really need help with? Miss Meddlesome will try her hardest to ruin your life with spectacularly bad advice. Submit here! It’s 100% anonymous!
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances should you actually follow this crap advice. If you do, you’re an idiot.
When Miss Meddlesome isn’t meddling, she’s writing as Fisher Amelie…
Find Fisher on Barnes & Noble!
June 15, 2017
Dear Miss Meddlesome, Volume 1
Before I dive in, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you all for joining me here today. It’s the maiden voyage for Dear Miss Meddlesome and I’m honored you joined me. I also want to add that a lot of these submissions were pretty brave. I wasn’t expecting such serious subject matter for some of them and I hope you can see the sarcasm through everything I’ve responded with. If you submitted, I think you’re all pretty bad ass, actually, and just want you to know how thankful I am that you decided to play along. It just goes to show you that every single one of us is struggling with stuff, yet we power through with determination and a sense of humor.
Let’s jump right in, shall we?
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
My parents separated after 40 years of marriage and now my dad lives on my couch. It’s been over a year and he shows no signs of leaving!!!! Between the toilet seat and him controlling the TV and thermostat I feel like I’m 12 living at home and not a grown woman whose name is on the mortgage!!! Do I tell him to find a different place or let him continue sleeping on my couch?!?!?
Sincerely,
Daddy’s-Little-Girl……. :/
Dear Little Girl,
How dare you. The man’s wife just left him! He’s entitled to a year’s worth of couch surfing at his daughter’s expense. Those braces weren’t free! So what if you fall in the toilet every morning, groggy, and downtrodden from missing your favorite show the night before because the remote was welded to his hand. Yeah, he was audibly snoring but he’s just “resting his eyes.” It’s a small price to pay when you think of the money he’s saving you by setting your thermostat at eighty degrees. What about the pony he bought you when you were six? What about your quinceañera? The five hundred yards of tulle for that dress wasn’t cheap, missy! Let’s not forget the Aston Martin he bought you when you graduated. I’m making some safe assumptions here.
Since you came to me for advice, though, I suppose I should formulate a few plans to help you get him out. I do love a good ousting, so here we go…
Plan A: The Chandler Bing
Tell him you’re moving to Yemen. Have him help you pack up your house. Once he’s left of his own accord, have him drive you to the airport to make it look convincing. Somehow get a phone number with a Yemen country code that forwards to your cell. Learn a few greetings in Arabic. Park your car in your garage every night. I know it’s a sacrifice, but no family get together’s for at least a year. Who are we kidding here? This is the one silver lining. And remember, you’re in Yemen, and visitors are expected to give pens or sweets to the local schools. Your dad will probably know this, so make a big showing out of buying these things to “take with you.” This is not a big deal because you can never have too many pens and candy, well, candy is the greatest gift to man next to Sonicare toothbrushes and agitator washing machines, which have nothing to do with Yemen, but felt necessary to mention. They never get the recognition they deserve.
Plan B: If Mama Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy
Have your mother move in. This feels self-explanatory, but it’s important to mention one key point. You must force them to share a room. In doing so, you run the risk/reward (depending on how you look at this) of them getting back together. Either way, though, he’ll be gone prrrrreeeeeeetttttyyyy quick, yo.
Plan C: The Slow Method
Big plates of bacon every morning. Krispy Kreme for lunch. Fried chicken every night.
You’re welcome,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
My husband is the worst kind of douche canoe.
That’s right. He’s the asshole who leaves the shower faucet on, so when I get in to take a bath later, I’m blasted in the face with ice cold water. Usually on days I don’t want to wash my hair. I’ve asked him time and time again to please to turn the faucet off when he gets out, but he still hasn’t listened.
How can I resolve this without simply murdering him when he sleeps?
Sincerely,
Doesn’t-Want-To-Go-To-Jail-Yet-Preferably
Dear First Degree,
You’re high maintenance. High maintenance and a little stabby, apparently. I haven’t missed the irony in that this is a shower scenario. #Pyscho Anyway, I get it. You want to be able to slide into your tub without the rude awakening that supposedly inspires murder (or pregnancy). A slight overreaction, but fine. Listen up, Buttercup, grab a Sharpie. Then, while he’s sleeping, write ‘Drench Mensch’ on his forehead. If you’re not sold on ‘Drench Mensch’, get creative. Try ‘Shower Power’, ‘Water Boy’, ‘Drizzle Dizzle’, ‘Patter Splatter’, maybe ‘Pissed Mist’. These are all acceptable alternatives. Anyway, when he gets out of the shower and glances at his reflection, he’ll see your message and know exactly what it means. He’ll think, “Wow, my wife is so helpful!” Then, after he pushes the diverter back in (I had to look that up), he’ll think, “Should I get her roses or lilies or maybe the bones of my ancient ancestors as sacrifice today?” The added bonus is that the Sharpie will stay on for days. You’ll only have to reapply once or twice a week. It’s foolproof.
If this doesn’t work, it’s helpful to know that stripes are, like, totally in this year.
Sincerely,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
My ex husband is living with his new girlfriend. When my kids come home from their weekend visits, I’m finding out the new girlfriend is doing things like teaching my oldest how to use tampons and taking my youngest to get haircuts, without ever discussing it with me first. I think this is crossing the line.
What should I do?
Signed,
Thank God I’m Single Again
Dear Hold My Earrings!,
I said hold them! Does anyone have a hair tie! She better recognize because I am not playing.
It’s time to plot annihilation…I mean, heh heh, revenge. It’s time to plot revenge. (Wait, that’s not that different.) First thing’s first, I’m the realest. Compile a list of where she works, where her parents and friends live, and places she frequents. Once you have this, it’s important that you troll her Facebook page. Find a picture she’s been tagged in, one she would have never approved of if she’d been able to veto, one where she looks like absolute dog poop. You know, her natural state. If you’re handy with Photoshop, brush up those skills. If not, find a graphic designer who has no qualms with shady because things are about to go down, Miss Brown.
We’re going to be making a few posters. Poster number one, “This lady gave me the herpapees!” Poster number two, “This woman stole $500 from my grandma!” Poster number three, “Caught in a compromising situation with a llama!” Poster number four, “Former Miss America stripped of her title as videotaped evidence was found of her claiming the earth is actually flat and we, as a people, can’t be associated with such utter nonsense.” (That one might be a little long.) Poster number five, “Eats her own toe jam!” Poster number six, “Can’t pronounce the word reconnaissance, let alone knows how to spell it.” Add the subtitle for that one, “Doesn’t know what it means, either.” Poster number seven, “Drinks pickle juice. That’s disgusting.” Poster number eight, “Plays mom to my kids and witch’s gotta go!” Poster nine, “Doesn’t comprehend appropriate boundaries.” Poster ten, “Has never heard of Toxic Shock Syndrome.” Poster eleven, “Poor choice in men.” (I’m assuming here.) And Poster twelve, “Trying too hard.”
Now, it’s time to post these suckers in their neighborhood, at her work, at the stores she frequents, and her family’s neighborhoods.
No one will know it was you. I’m sorry, no one can prove it was you.
I plead the fifth,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
I’ve recently found myself back on the market after nearly 15 years of marriage. I haven’t dated since I was 19, so it’s safe to say I’m fairly rusty in the flirting/dating department. There is a certain someone who I see at work that caught my eyes several months ago and things have progressed to a little flirting and some not-so-innocent Snapchat exchanges. My issue is that he is very wishy washy and I never know if he’s going to give me a big hug when I see him, or if he’s going to ignore me completely. Lately, he only acknowledges my presence if no one else is around. I sound like a teenager, but my relationship experience is on par with a 7th grader at this point lol! I need help! What do I do? How do I not come off like a 12 year old?
Signed,
Desperately-NOT-a-tween-seeking-clarity
Dear Desperate,
So you’re out there! You’re a part of the ocean again and you’re swimming around with the other fish and they have duck lips and are taking thousands of selfies and you’re like, what the hell is this? I’ve never seen this specific species before with their shaved chests and pomade hair, but okay, whatever. You’ve jumped in and the water’s cold as crap but you’re in.
First off, I want to commend you on your very excellent choice of sending naughty Snapchats to a flaky workmate. I think this was a good choice on your part and couldn’t possibly backfire on you. Plus, nothing demands respect from a man like reputation damaging screenshots he learned how to take secretly through wikiHow.
Now that we’ve acknowledged what great footing you’ve established, let’s explore his waffling approach to your interactions. Whoo! How hot is this? Somebody get me a glass of lemonade! I love a man who pretends I don’t exist one minute then deigns to do so the next. #Maturity Add in the fact he only seems to notice you when no one else is present and you’ve got a recipe for a match made in heaven.
This is my very sound advice for you. Keep all of this up. Many will tell you that you should stand up for yourself, demand that a potential significant other openly and respectfully recognize you among your peers, but I think this would be a mistake. I believe, with time, he’ll build enough respect for you via these sneaky rendezvous to chase you down the corridors at work, shouting your name in reverence. This seems inevitable to me. Everyone knows a man who refuses to acknowledge you unless it’s under his terms is a man to be trusted.
It’s time to let his inconsistent behavior be your guide. Dependable men are boring so let this gem have his cake and eat it too. When he ignores you, overlook the pit in your stomach. This means he’s starting to respect you! When he hugs you privately after making sure absolutely no one is around to see you both, don’t be offended by the fact he appears to be ashamed of you. It only means he’s building genuine admiration for you!
And whatever you do, do not recognize your own worth. Do not demand respect. Do not let him work toward earning you instead of the other way around. Do not let yourself think you deserve more.
Your meddlesome,
Miss Meddlesome
Have a personal problem you really need help with? Miss Meddlesome will try her hardest to ruin your life with spectacularly bad advice. Write her at: [email protected]
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances should you actually follow this crap advice. If you do, you’re an idiot.
When Miss Meddlesome isn’t meddling, she’s writing as Fisher Amelie…
Find Fisher on Barnes & Noble!
Dear Miss Meddlesome, Volume One
Before I dive in, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you all for joining me here today. It’s the maiden voyage for Dear Miss Meddlesome and I’m honored you joined me. I also want to add that a lot of these submissions were pretty brave. I wasn’t expecting such serious subject matter for some of them and I hope you can see the sarcasm through everything I’ve responded with. If you submitted, I think you’re all pretty bad ass, actually, and just want you to know how thankful I am that you decided to play along. It just goes to show you that every single one of us is struggling with stuff, yet we power through with determination and a sense of humor.
Let’s jump right in, shall we?
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
My parents separated after 40 years of marriage and now my dad lives on my couch. It’s been over a year and he shows no signs of leaving!!!! Between the toilet seat and him controlling the TV and thermostat I feel like I’m 12 living at home and not a grown woman whose name is on the mortgage!!! Do I tell him to find a different place or let him continue sleeping on my couch?!?!?
Sincerely,
Daddy’s-Little-Girl……. :/
Dear Little Girl,
How dare you. The man’s wife just left him! He’s entitled to a year’s worth of couch surfing at his daughter’s expense. Those braces weren’t free! So what if you fall in the toilet every morning, groggy, and downtrodden from missing your favorite show the night before because the remote was welded to his hand. Yeah, he was audibly snoring but he’s just “resting his eyes.” It’s a small price to pay when you think of the money he’s saving you by setting your thermostat at eighty degrees. What about the pony he bought you when you were six? What about your quinceañera? The five hundred yards of tulle for that dress wasn’t cheap, missy! Let’s not forget the Aston Martin he bought you when you graduated. I’m making some safe assumptions here.
Since you came to me for advice, though, I suppose I should formulate a few plans to help you get him out. I do love a good ousting, so here we go…
Plan A: The Chandler Bing
Tell him you’re moving to Yemen. Have him help you pack up your house. Once he’s left of his own accord, have him drive you to the airport to make it look convincing. Somehow get a phone number with a Yemen country code that forwards to your cell. Learn a few greetings in Arabic. Park your car in your garage every night. I know it’s a sacrifice, but no family get together’s for at least a year. Who are we kidding here? This is the one silver lining. And remember, you’re in Yemen, and visitors are expected to give pens or sweets to the local schools. Your dad will probably know this, so make a big showing out of buying these things to “take with you.” This is not a big deal because you can never have too many pens and candy, well, candy is the greatest gift to man next to Sonicare toothbrushes and agitator washing machines, which have nothing to do with Yemen, but felt necessary to mention. They never get the recognition they deserve.
Plan B: If Mama Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy
Have your mother move in. This feels self-explanatory, but it’s important to mention one key point. You must force them to share a room. In doing so, you run the risk/reward (depending on how you look at this) of them getting back together. Either way, though, he’ll be gone prrrrreeeeeeetttttyyyy quick, yo.
Plan C: The Slow Method
Big plates of bacon every morning. Krispy Kreme for lunch. Fried chicken every night.
You’re welcome,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
My husband is the worst kind of douche canoe.
That’s right. He’s the asshole who leaves the shower faucet on, so when I get in to take a bath later, I’m blasted in the face with ice cold water. Usually on days I don’t want to wash my hair. I’ve asked him time and time again to please to turn the faucet off when he gets out, but he still hasn’t listened.
How can I resolve this without simply murdering him when he sleeps?
Sincerely,
Doesn’t-Want-To-Go-To-Jail-Yet-Preferably
Dear First Degree,
You’re high maintenance. High maintenance and a little stabby, apparently. I haven’t missed the irony in that this is a shower scenario. #Pyscho Anyway, I get it. You want to be able to slide into your tub without the rude awakening that supposedly inspires murder (or pregnancy). A slight overreaction, but fine. Listen up, Buttercup, grab a Sharpie. Then, while he’s sleeping, write ‘Drench Mensch’ on his forehead. If you’re not sold on ‘Drench Mensch’, get creative. Try ‘Shower Power’, ‘Water Boy’, ‘Drizzle Dizzle’, ‘Patter Splatter’, maybe ‘Pissed Mist’. These are all acceptable alternatives. Anyway, when he gets out of the shower and glances at his reflection, he’ll see your message and know exactly what it means. He’ll think, “Wow, my wife is so helpful!” Then, after he pushes the diverter back in (I had to look that up), he’ll think, “Should I get her roses or lilies or maybe the bones of my ancient ancestors as sacrifice today?” The added bonus is that the Sharpie will stay on for days. You’ll only have to reapply once or twice a week. It’s foolproof.
If this doesn’t work, it’s helpful to know that stripes are, like, totally in this year.
Sincerely,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
My ex husband is living with his new girlfriend. When my kids come home from their weekend visits, I’m finding out the new girlfriend is doing things like teaching my oldest how to use tampons and taking my youngest to get haircuts, without ever discussing it with me first. I think this is crossing the line.
What should I do?
Signed,
Thank God I’m Single Again
Dear Hold My Earrings!,
I said hold them! Does anyone have a hair tie! She better recognize because I am not playing.
It’s time to plot annihilation…I mean, heh heh, revenge. It’s time to plot revenge. (Wait, that’s not that different.) First thing’s first, I’m the realest. Compile a list of where she works, where her parents and friends live, and places she frequents. Once you have this, it’s important that you troll her Facebook page. Find a picture she’s been tagged in, one she would have never approved of if she’d been able to veto, one where she looks like absolute dog poop. You know, her natural state. If you’re handy with Photoshop, brush up those skills. If not, find a graphic designer who has no qualms with shady because things are about to go down, Miss Brown.
We’re going to be making a few posters. Poster number one, “This lady gave me the herpapees!” Poster number two, “This woman stole $500 from my grandma!” Poster number three, “Caught in a compromising situation with a llama!” Poster number four, “Former Miss America stripped of her title as videotaped evidence was found of her claiming the earth is actually flat and we, as a people, can’t be associated with such utter nonsense.” (That one might be a little long.) Poster number five, “Eats her own toe jam!” Poster number six, “Can’t pronounce the word reconnaissance, let alone knows how to spell it.” Add the subtitle for that one, “Doesn’t know what it means, either.” Poster number seven, “Drinks pickle juice. That’s disgusting.” Poster number eight, “Plays mom to my kids and witch’s gotta go!” Poster nine, “Doesn’t comprehend appropriate boundaries.” Poster ten, “Has never heard of Toxic Shock Syndrome.” Poster eleven, “Poor choice in men.” (I’m assuming here.) And Poster twelve, “Trying too hard.”
Now, it’s time to post these suckers in their neighborhood, at her work, at the stores she frequents, and her family’s neighborhoods.
No one will know it was you. I’m sorry, no one can prove it was you.
I plead the fifth,
Miss Meddlesome
Dear Miss Meddlesome,
I’ve recently found myself back on the market after nearly 15 years of marriage. I haven’t dated since I was 19, so it’s safe to say I’m fairly rusty in the flirting/dating department. There is a certain someone who I see at work that caught my eyes several months ago and things have progressed to a little flirting and some not-so-innocent Snapchat exchanges. My issue is that he is very wishy washy and I never know if he’s going to give me a big hug when I see him, or if he’s going to ignore me completely. Lately, he only acknowledges my presence if no one else is around. I sound like a teenager, but my relationship experience is on par with a 7th grader at this point lol! I need help! What do I do? How do I not come off like a 12 year old?
Signed,
Desperately-NOT-a-tween-seeking-clarity
Dear Desperate,
So you’re out there! You’re a part of the ocean again and you’re swimming around with the other fish and they have duck lips and are taking thousands of selfies and you’re like, what the hell is this? I’ve never seen this specific species before with their shaved chests and pomade hair, but okay, whatever. You’ve jumped in and the water’s cold as crap but you’re in.
First off, I want to commend you on your very excellent choice of sending naughty Snapchats to a flaky workmate. I think this was a good choice on your part and couldn’t possibly backfire on you. Plus, nothing demands respect from a man like reputation damaging screenshots he learned how to take secretly through wikiHow.
Now that we’ve acknowledged what great footing you’ve established, let’s explore his waffling approach to your interactions. Whoo! How hot is this? Somebody get me a glass of lemonade! I love a man who pretends I don’t exist one minute then deigns to do so the next. #Maturity Add in the fact he only seems to notice you when no one else is present and you’ve got a recipe for a match made in heaven.
This is my very sound advice for you. Keep all of this up. Many will tell you that you should stand up for yourself, demand that a potential significant other openly and respectfully recognize you among your peers, but I think this would be a mistake. I believe, with time, he’ll build enough respect for you via these sneaky rendezvous to chase you down the corridors at work, shouting your name in reverence. This seems inevitable to me. Everyone knows a man who refuses to acknowledge you unless it’s under his terms is a man to be trusted.
It’s time to let his inconsistent behavior be your guide. Dependable men are boring so let this gem have his cake and eat it too. When he ignores you, overlook the pit in your stomach. This means he’s starting to respect you! When he hugs you privately after making sure absolutely no one is around to see you both, don’t be offended by the fact he appears to be ashamed of you. It only means he’s building genuine admiration for you!
And whatever you do, do not recognize your own worth. Do not demand respect. Do not let him work toward earning you instead of the other way around. Do not let yourself think you deserve more.
Your meddlesome,
Miss Meddlesome
Have a personal problem you really need help with? Miss Meddlesome will try her hardest to ruin your life with spectacularly bad advice. Write her at: [email protected]
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances should you actually follow this crap advice. If you do, you’re an idiot.
When Miss Meddlesome isn’t meddling, she’s writing as Fisher Amelie…
Find Fisher on Barnes & Noble!
December 31, 2016
Midnight by Fisher Amelie
Hello, my darlings! Here is my short little short story for New Year’s. I hope you enjoy Midnight. Let me know in the comments if you enjoyed Jack and Adeline!
There was no one to kiss at midnight. I was okay with this. So I didn’t have a boyfriend? I was never one to insist on having one even if it meant a lonesome New Year’s. I’d done Christmas alone and I weathered that like a champ regardless of my Aunt Sarah’s pouty laments about my dying an old maid if I “didn’t figure myself out soon.” Sigh. I could do alone. I was happy with myself and since I didn’t care to kiss random strangers, either, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t going to kiss anyone at midnight.
I was okay with this.
Well, I was ninety-two percent okay with this.
Loud music thumped through the crowded party I was at. I looked around me and noticed two of my workmate girlfriends sidled up to their gentlemen dates. A tiny pang of sadness filtered across my skin.
Fine, I was seventy-seven percent okay with not kissing anyone at midnight.
I glanced at the time on my phone. It read nine p.m. Three more hours, I chanted in my head. No, I amended, two hours forty-five minutes. In a flash second, I decided it was best to be in a cab headed for home ten til. No sense standing around like an idiot, smiling like one as well, at all the happy people around me, locking lips, feeling exhilarated, feeling enchanted.
I was sixty-four percent okay with the whole not sharing a kiss at midnight thing.
I crossed my arms across my stomach, balancing my empty martini glass at my hip, trying for casual. I kept fidgeting, which probably meant I looked anything but casual. Sigh. It was just as well. No one was looking at me anyway.
I was forty-three percent okay with the lack of kissing potential.
“Refresh your drink for you, Adeline?” Jack said. Jack was a work frenemy. He and I were always neck and neck, occasionally elbowing the other out of the way if it meant we could get the attention of one of the partners. Half the reason I did well as a first year associate at our New York law firm was because of him. I couldn’t be lazy around Jack.
I stood up straight. He was always angling for a way to tease me and I didn’t want to supply the fuel. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”
He took my empty glass from me and set it on the kitchen counter next to his phone.
“Whose loft do you think we’re in?” he asked me.
“I heard someone say it belonged to Justin Chekov.” Justin was one of the firm’s clients.
Jack looked surprised. “This is Justin’s apartment?” He studied his surroundings. “We should have charged him more.”
I laughed and nodded. “Did you come with the rest of us?” I asked him.
He shook his head at me. “Remind me not to ever send you with an investigator, will you? I was sitting one away from you.”
He was subtly reminding me with that comment that he was put in charge that day of overseeing the other first years.
I stared at him. “Not fair. It’s so easy to overlook you.”
“Is it, though?” he asked, throwing his chin the direction of two girls ogling him.
I rolled my eyes and pretended to study them. “Let me rephrase. It’s easy if your name isn’t Cinnamon or possibly Chandelier.”
He smiled an easy grin. “Touché.”
I inclined my head toward him.
“How about Helluva Bottom Carter?”
I burst out laughing. “Yes or Eileen Dover.”
He nodded in approval . “How about Amanda Hugginkiss?”
“Lauren Order?”
He barked out a laugh and I knew I’d won. Jack never laughed out loud if he could help it.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, anyway, I read that brief you drafted.”
I perked up a little bit. “Oh yeah?”
“It was good.”
I snorted. “Just good, huh?”
“It was brilliant, Adeline, okay? What more do you want from me?”
“Ha! I knew it. Proof you think I’m brilliant.” I slapped my hands back and forth as if to clear them of imaginary dirt.
“I said the brief was brilliant. I never said you were.”
My mouth hung open. “So you don’t think I’m brilliant?”
“What I think is irrelevant.”
I shook my head. “No, Counselor, it is extremely relevant,” I teased.
The expression on his face flickered a moment. “What would it matter to you what I did or did not think?”
I stood a little taller. “It- it doesn’t,” I stuttered.
His teasing grin came full force. “It-It-It It doesn’t sound like it,” he needled.
I felt my cheeks heat up a bit. “Okay, Jack, whatever.”
“Okay, Jack,” he mocked in falsetto.
“Oh, real mature, Jack.”
“Real mature, Jack,” he parroted.
I shook my head at him just as Justin came over. Jack abandoned high school and put on his big boy suit. “Justin,” he said as they shook hands.
Justin turned toward me and offered his hand. “Adeline, nice to see you again,” he said after I took it.
“Of course, Mister Chekov. Thank you for having us.”
“Please, call me Justin.”
I smiled at him. “Thank you for having us, Justin.”
“It’s a pleasure,” he said. “Listen,” he continued, placing his other hand on top of mine when I tried to pull away, “I was wondering if I could interest you in dinner sometime?”
“Um, of course, did you want to go over the results of your case?” I asked.
He laughed and winked at Jack in that, girls, aren’t they precious? kind of way. It grossed me out. From the look on Jack’s face, he concurred. He looked my way and must have read the deer-in-the-headlights vibe I hope I was giving out.
“Actually, Justin,” Jack explained, taking my hand and surprising the crap out of me. It was warm and fit perfectly over mine. Butterflies filled my stomach and my skin flushed all over. “Adeline and I are together.”
Justin looked a little taken aback but he rallied well. “Oh, excuse me, the way you two bickered at one another, I assumed- well, never mind what I assumed. Excuse me, I hope I didn’t offend.”
I shook off the honeyed effect Jack’s hand had caused and smiled at Justin. “Of course not, I’m flattered all the same. Good for a girl’s complexion, so thank you,” I tried to appease.
Justin smiled back, peered down at our joined hands briefly, before offering a smile and retreating back into the party.
Jack let go of my hand. Neither of us said anything to one another for at least ten seconds before we both spoke at once.
“Jack-“
“Adeline-“
“Go on,” he said.
“Thank you for that,” I said, unconsciously rubbing at the palm he’d just held. “I, uh, I didn’t want to offend him but-“
“But didn’t want to go out with him?”
I smiled and nodded. “No!” I shivered a little. “I know a few things about him and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t date him for all the money in the world.”
“So it was cool for me to, uh, you know, hold your hand?”
“Of course! I mean, yeah, it was perfect. I mean, it worked perfectly. He doesn’t get offended and I get to keep my standards.”
Jack smiled at me. “And your job.”
I bit back my own smile. “You’re going to lord your new position over me every single chance you get, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “Who? Me?”
“Come on, you two!” Peter, another associate, yelled our direction. “There’s fireworks going off over Times Square and Justin says we can see them from the roof.”
We followed the crowd to the roof after grabbing our coats and stood near the railing as fireworks burst above us. The sound was almost deafening but the sights were unbelievable, full of whites, reds, and greens. The sky lit up beautifully.
Forty-one. Forty-one percent okay in that moment.
I glanced toward Jack and felt my throat close up a little at the memory of what his hand felt like in mine. His eyes found me and I quickly forced mine back toward the sky. Being as careful as possible, I glanced his way again with what I hoped was a skillful side eye.
Jack was certainly good looking. I’d always known that. He was tall. He was built but lean. At least, I thought he was. His Mad Men style suits always hung so well on him. Half Jack’s attraction was his ability to carry himself well and the boy had swagger. He had a Forties throwback haircut, always perfectly parted. I dug it, I won’t lie, but I also itched to ruin his part just so I could see what his reaction would be. He wasn’t classically handsome but he had a jawline and a pair of baby blues that could send any woman to her knees, but what drove me personally up the wall, in a good way, though I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, let alone myself, was his Adam’s apple. The man’s neck was beautiful. I imagined dragging my thumb down the line of his throat and inwardly shivered. Where did that come from?
I took a deep, shaky breath and tried to focus on the fireworks. I shoved my hands out of my gloves and set them on the ledge near me. My fingers found my neck and dragged down, unbuttoning the top button of my coat. I was gulping in air.
“You all right?” Jack asked from beside me. The warmth of his breath puffed in the air around us.
I jumped a little then laughed. “Yeah, I’m cool or whatever.”
“Amazing, right?” he asked, gesturing at the sky.
“It’s magical,” I admitted.
We stood in silence until the finale faded into the sky and the world turned quiet, save for the typical city noise I was accustomed to.
Jack smiled politely at me and I felt my heart rate increase. Uh oh. We followed the funneling crowd toward the roof’s door and ended up being dead last. Jack opened the door for me and I began to walk through when I suddenly remembered my gloves on the railing’s ledge.
“My gloves!” I protested.
Jack looked around. “Where are they?” he asked.
“Just there,” I said, pointing. “I”ll get them,” I said, just as he said the same.
We let the door shut behind us and started toward the railing. He beat me to them and picked them up for me, handing them over, as we headed for the door again. He grabbed the handle and yanked but it didn’t budge. My pulse picked up again but this time in a bit of a panic. He pulled as hard as he could but it wouldn’t open.
“Shit,” he whispered. He reached into pant’s pockets, looking for his phone, I assumed. The expression on his face went from collected to frantic as he checked his jacket pocket and his coat pockets, turning up with nothing. “Oh shit,” he said again. “My phone’s on the island downstairs.”
I gulped. “Mine’s in my purse.”
“Let me guess, also downstairs?”
I nodded, afraid to speak.
“Well, we’ve got ourselves a little situation,” he commented.
“Surely they’ll notice we’re not there.”
He nodded but didn’t look convinced.
“Carmen will definitely wonder where I’m at,” I said, feeling a little better.
“Carmen left,” Jack told me.
“What!”
“Yeah, I was standing with Peter earlier and she said she had to go back to the office. One of the partners needed her. She said she’d text you.”
“Oh my God,” I said, feeling a little sick.
It was probably twenty degrees out.
“It’s fine,” he said, using his litigator voice, which made me nervous. “It’s all going to be fine.”
He walked to the roof’s edge and peered down. He followed it all the way around.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Checking for the fire escape.”
“Oh my God, yes! The fire escape!”
He looked at me then shook his head. “It’s broken, Adeline.”
I scoffed. “No way. They wouldn’t let something as important as the fire escape in a posh building like this go to disrepair.”
“They would and they did,” he said, pointing over the edge.
I stomped over beside him and peered over. “Oh my God, I’m going to report them immediately!”
Jack’s hands went to the back of his neck. “Okay, okay, let’s think about this.”
I glanced around the edge. It was too high to call down and the nearest window was too far to safely descend. We were truly stuck.
He began kicking at the big metal door and I helped him.
“Maybe,” he grunted, “we. can. get them to. hear us.”
We pounded and pounded until both our hands and feet were raw but no one came. We both fell back, tired and defeated.
“We’ll just have to wait then,” he said.
With that, fear filled me entirely. My eyes started to glass and Jack noticed.
“No,” he whispered, “don’t worry. I promise we won’t be up here much longer. Let’s just find a way to stay as warm as possible for the time being.”
I swallowed and nodded. We both stood and glanced around us. There was only a bunch of covered patio furniture nearby so we decided to search the other parts of the roof to see if there was anything else. We rounded the roof’s door only to find more furniture but about fifteen feet further from that, tucked in the far corner, was something that could have been a gas fireplace. It, too, was covered but I didn’t think it could be anything else. Together we lifted the canvas cover and saw that it was, indeed, one of those gas fireplaces.
“Oh thank God!”
Jack searched its perimeter. “It needs a key to work,” he told me. I met his side and tried not to get hysterical. “I think I might be able to rig it.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something similar to a pocket knife but even crazier looking.
“What the hell is that?” I asked.
He laughed. “It’s some sort of multi-purpose tool Ned gave me for Christmas. I thought nothing of it at the time but now I could kiss him.” Ned was the firm’s investigator. Jack started rummaging through the knife’s options and found something he liked. He bent and attempted to pick the gas lock, eventually getting it to turn. He flipped the pilot light’s switch but it wouldn’t turn so instead he had me stand back as he bit at the flint attached to his new Christmas gift. The flame burst to life and I squealed like a little girl, jumping up and down.
“I can’t believe you did that!” I told him.
We held our hands over the fire and warmed up for a few minutes before deciding to pull up a few chairs. Jack gathered a bunch of furniture covers, tying them to the corners of our chairs and the stone surrounding the fire, encompassing us completely and keeping the warmth of the fire close. We sat and reveled in the heat.
“That was pretty ingenious,” I told him.
He shook his head. “Nah, it was all Ned.
I didn’t say anything because I knew he would have denied it anyway, but I knew for a fact that had he not been there, I’d have frozen to death on that roof.
“Thanks for helping me,” I told him. “I’m sorry I got you caught up here.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he offered.
“Yes, it was. This is just my awkward way of thanking you for getting caught out here with me and not letting me die.”
He smiled at me then turned his gaze toward the fire.
“I wonder what time it is,” he said absently.
A thought occurred to me. “I hope I didn’t screw with any plans you had.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you had someone waiting for you at midnight, I mean.”
He looked at me, his eyes furrowed in confusion. “Who would be waiting for me, Adeline?”
I swallowed. “A girlfriend or whatever.”
He laughed. “Have I ever talked about someone at work?”
“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have someone or whatever.”
“I suppose it could mean that but that would also mean I was an asshole, don’t you think? Never talking about some girl I was with?”
“Not really. Some people are just really private.”
“Oh, I see, does that mean you’ve got some guy chasing your skirt?”
“Excuse me? Any one who chases me better be up for climbing ladders, let my skirt alone.”
“Are you wearing a skirt while on this ladder?” he asked.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Oh, shut up, Jack, you know what I meant.”
His chest and shoulders shook with laughter. “You’re so easy.”
“I am not easy!”
“No!” he laughed, “I meant it’s so easy to bug you. You make it too easy for me.”
“I know what you meant, jack ass. You get a lot of joy out of flustering me,” I told him.
He sobered. “Do I fluster you?”
I felt my skin flush. “Not as much as you’d like,” I told him.
“Tell me then how much you think I’d like to fluster you?”
This is dangerously close to flirting.
“It’s unquantifiable. What might be much to me might not be much to you.”
“What is much to you then so I can gauge it.”
“How could I measure that?” I countered, not wanting to make myself any more vulnerable to him than necessary.
“Easily,” he teased.
“Set the value then.”
“On a scale of one to ten, one being you’re complete indifference to me and ten being that I totally agitate you,” he goaded.
“What’s the median?” I asked.
“Provoked but it’s not necessarily unwanted.”
I twisted my lips. “I say just above the median,” I said. A mischievous grin grew across his mouth, “With the occasional outlier,” I amended.
“What is the outlier?” he asked.
“Fantasies of lopping off a certain reproductive organ.”
He made a show of crossing his legs and I fought a grin. “That day Smith overlooked you for me when you were obviously just as qualified for the case and I was already overloaded?”
It fascinated me that he went right to it. “To name a few.”
“Smith is an antiquated, sexist fool, you know that, right?”
“He’s still a partner, Jack.”
“He’s pushing eighty-five, Adeline. He can barely try a case anymore. They’re constantly loading him with busy work. He’s there for show only and they’ll push him out soon.”
“Maybe,” I agreed.
“And then I can, well-“ he didn’t finish.
“You can what? Tell me. Find a position for me? Help me out?”
His eyes serious, he shook his head back and forth slowly. “You don’t need help from anyone, Adeline.”
I swallowed. Thirty-nine percent okay with not having someone to kiss when that clock struck twelve.
“So what did you mean then?” I asked.
“Well, it’s just, if they promote from within then we can vie for any open associate position. It’d be between us.”
“Yeah, so? You’d get it, Jack.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Because they gave you that promotion today.”
Jack laughed. “You want to know why you didn’t get the promotion?”
“Why?”
“I overheard the associates’ secretaries talking. They chose me over you because they needed you free and available for the Martinelli case next month.” I started breathing heavier. “They felt you’re the most capable.”
Jack had been campaigning to be put on the case as the junior for weeks. It was one of the biggest cases our firm had gotten in years and had even garnered national attention. Whoever the junior was on that case was going to have the biggest card in their pocket if we won. I couldn’t believe they were looking to place me.
“Wow,” I whispered.
Jack smiled at me. “They’re right, you know. You are the most capable so when we both vie for that open position and you get it? Then I can relax.”
“Relax.”
“Yes, damn it. Do you know how ragged you run me? I can barely keep up with you.”
I laughed out loud. “I get four hours a sleep a night on average, I eat out of containers at my table surrounded by files, I’ve got Ned on speed dial, and I haven’t gone on a date in over a year and it’s all because of you.”
Jack’s jaw went slack. “You haven’t dated because of me?”
My face flamed. “I, uh, just meant I don’t have time for anything else anymore. I’m always trying to figure out ways to beat you.”
He smiled at me. “So you don’t have anyone to kiss at midnight either then.”
I shook my head. “You know I don’t.”
“Interesting,” he said.
I lifted one brow. “Why is that interesting?”
He drew the backs of his fingers down his jaw and tried not to smile. “It just is.”
“Have you been drinking?” I asked him.
He threw his head back and laughed. “Maybe a little,” he answered.
“How much?” I asked.
“Enough that I’m letting down my guard but not so much that I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I leaned forward. “What are you doing?” I asked.
He opened his mouth to answer but stopped short when he noticed it had started to snow.
“Uh oh,” I whispered.
Jack grabbed the leg of my chair and pulled me closer to the fire. It was bold and it was sexy and I felt my stomach flip on itself. My whole body swung toward him when the chair stopped and he leaned toward me. “We’ll have to stay close like this to stay warm,” he explained.
Feeling a little out of breath, I said, “Will we?”
“Hey, Adeline?”
“Yeah?”
“When you walked into the office to meet everyone tonight?”
“Yeah, I was a little late.”
“We were all standing near the elevators, getting ready to head downstairs, and the doors opened and you were standing there in that peach dress, your shoulders exposed. I opened my mouth to quip something at you but I was stunned silent.”
“You were?” I quieted.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Adeline.”
I swallowed. “There are lots of beautiful women at our firm.”
He smiled but shook his head. “Not like you, though.”
I sucked in a breath. “What are you saying?”
He shook his head and let out a deep breath. “I’m just admitting I find you handsome is all.” He sat back in his chair, resting the back of his neck on the top of the chair and exposing his magnificent throat. “I’m not telling you something you don’t already know, though.”
“Do you want in on a secret?” I asked him.
“Always.”
“A girl can suspect she’s beautiful. Unless it’s confirmed, though, it’s merely a suspicion.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“But it’s the truth all the same.”
He sat up. “Has no one ever told you that?” he asked me.
“A few boys in high school, but they always looked raring to go at the time, so it lost its value immediately.” Jack grinned. “A drunk boy in college but it was at a party where he also told one of our three hundred pound linemen the same thing.” Jack laughed, giving me butterflies. “And all the time on the streets here but it’s usually quickly followed up by the word bitch because I won’t give them the time of day.”
Jack shook his head. “It sounds like you’ve been tossed about by idiots. You don’t trust when someone says it and they’re genuine.”
“It’s hard to trust anyone anymore.”
“Men aren’t who they used to be,” he told me, “but I’m not a product of that school, Adeline. I mean what I say.”
I took two deep breaths. “I believe you.”
He smiled at me, his brilliant teeth startling white against his warm face. “Good.”
I didn’t have anything else to say so I decided to keep quiet, a trick the juniors learned the second we hit the firm’s floor for the first time.
He cleared his throat then leaned back again. “I’m not the best looking guy out there, I know this,” he began.
I laughed, interrupting him. “You’re foolish, Jack. You’re really attractive.”
He sat up. “Girls, like the ones earlier, think I have money so they pay attention but as just some guy off the street? They don’t even bother looking.”
“That you know of.”
“I know. Trust me, I know.”
“Then they’re gosh damn fools who can’t see what’s right in front of them. You don’t want the stupid ones anyway, so no skin off your back.”
His smile spread wide. “You’re good, you know that?” He studied me a second. “You’re an excellent attorney.”
This was always a secret insecurity on my part. I’d only been practicing law for a year and anytime I got in front of a judge, my stomach would be in knots for days. I hadn’t yet mastered that part of myself yet and I thought everyone knew it.
“I still get really nervous at even the simplest hearing.”
He nodded. “You could never tell. You’re a pro.”
“Thank you,” I told him.
The snow started falling harder and was gathering in steeper and steeper piles against the roof’s ledges.
“How long do you think it’s been?” I asked.
“Not sure, to be honest. I think the longer we’re up here, the less likely someone will find us anytime soon,” he said.
“My purse is still down there, though. Eventually they’ll wonder who it belongs to?”
“Possible,” he said, not sounding confident at all.
“Do you think the gas source is from the pipes?” I asked.
“Most definitely. We won’t be running out of fire anytime soon.”
We were quiet for a little bit. I studied his hands, the way the fabric of his pants stretched across his thighs, the way his jacket strained against his shoulders. His swept bangs swung forward a little bit. He swallowed when he noticed me staring, pronouncing his Adam’s apple even more and sending me spiraling.
“What are you staring at?”
I found his eyes. “Nothing,” I whispered.
I was thirty percent okay. Getting lower all the time.
“Want to play a game?” he asked.
“Have a deck of cards in that knife of yours?”
He shook his head and smiled at me then held his palms out. I scooted forward and when I placed my hands on top of his, a tiny spark of static electricity sparked between us and we both pulled our hands back. When I remembered to breathe again, I shook my head and laughed a little.
He swallowed. “Let’s try this again,” he said quietly, setting his hands out once more.
I placed mine on top of his and a syrupy warmth traveled up my fingers, hands, and arms and settled in my chest. It was a long time before we both noticed we were just staring at our connected hands. Jack cleared his throat and scooted forward a little bit, our knees barely brushing. He shook his right hand a bit to fake me out but I didn’t fall for it. He tried time and time again to slap my hands but he failed every time. By the seventh attempt, he had me rolling he was so frustrated.
“Why can’t I get you?” he asked.
“Because I know you. I’ve spent eighteen hours a day with you for the past year. I know when you’re bluffing and when you’re not.”
He looked at me. “I bet you don’t know everything about me, though,” he said, making my stomach drop to the floor, and bringing his left hand out and slapping it on top of mine. “Gotcha,” he whispered.
I tossed my hair behind me and sat upright, desperate to ignore my racing heart. I laid my palms out and he placed his hands on mine. Our eyes found one another and we stared at each other. Every attempt I made at besting him, he thwarted.
“I won’t give up,” I told him with a smile.
He smiled back. “I already know this,” he said, as my hand found his with a light crack.
Just then someone turned a light on from the floor just above the roof in the building next door and we both launched up trying to get their attention. No one came to the window, though, and eventually we got too cold to keep trying and returned to our chairs.
“You live anywhere near here?” he asked.
“No,” I laughed, “I’ve got a little studio in Chelsea.”
“I’m in Chelsea too.”
“Needed to be close to work, huh?” I asked him.
“More like needed to be ready for whatever you have up your sleeve.”
“Don’t you like the competition?” I asked.
“You know I love it.”
I nodded. “So do I,” I admitted.
“Do,” he began, then cleared his throat, “do you think that, uh, it might be too much sometimes, though?”
I sat up a bit. “Why? Because neither of us seem to have any kind of life other than work?”
“Yes,” he answered.
Do I be honest? “Maybe.”
“I like the drive, the fun of the chase, but I want more, Adeline.” He pulled at his hair a little. “I don’t want my life limited to the rungs I ascended, by the cash in my pockets. I want a real, full life.”
My throat went dry. “What do you think a real, full life is, Jack?”
“I don’t know yet, but I know it’s more than five a.m. alarms, than sleepless, brief-filled nights, than demanding grunt work.” He leaned back, his long legs extended before him, his hands gripped at the arm of his chair. “I don’t know. “ He looked at me. “Are your parents still together?”
“Yeah, they are.”
“Are they happy?”
“I think so.”
He nodded. “Mine are too. I didn’t go home over Christmas because of work, of course, but I called them up and spent the morning sitting at my laptop in my sad studio watching my family open gifts together. As I sat there, I wondered at what the hell I was playing at. I saw my brother and his wife and kids. He looked exhausted but fulfilled. I saw my mom and dad happy and full of something I’ve never once felt in any relationship I’ve ever been in. I know it exists because I’ve seen it.”
Twenty-three percent okay with the whole not kissing at midnight thing.
“I know exactly what you’re talking about. My parents aren’t impressed with my job, with my paycheck. They don’t care for anything but to see me happy. About six months ago they just up and asked me what I wanted in life. Without thinking, I blurted out that I wanted someone. All my life, growing up and working myself to death toward this idea of success, I would have thought my immediate answer would be to crest that mountain, looking down below, my foot mounted on the top of the hill.” Jack studied me. “Don’t get me wrong, I still want those things, I still have drive, I still have the endurance, but I figured out, maybe a little later than some, that it’s not what I actually want to define me.”
“Right. What do you think people say to those surrounding them on their death beds? Nobody speaks of financial regrets or a missed opportunity at a power grab.” He shook his head. “They talk of love not finished, of a time of love cut too short, or the flip of that, the happiness in a love they shared. That’s what I want. Love should always be at the center of this life, no matter who you are, no matter where you’re from.”
I drew deep breaths over and over, my pulse quickened in my veins. Jack turned toward me.
One side of his mouth lifted in what I’d come to learn as “the worried Jack face.” “You’re not, um, you’re not going to use this against me, are you?”
“Only if you don’t use what I said against me,” I quieted.
“It’s off the record, Counselor.”
Twenty percent okay.
I smiled at him. “Let’s make a pact then.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Whenever either of us seems to be getting ready to abandon focus, the other reins them back in.”
“Deal.”
I extended my pinky and he wrapped his with mine, sending warm, anxious blood all throughout my body. We stared at our connected fingers but neither of us pulled away. Slowly he flattened his hand out and slid it into my palm. My breaths came in pants and our eyes met briefly.
“Jack,” I whispered over the hush of falling snow.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m checking something.”
Seventeen percent okay.
“What are you checking for?” I asked, swallowing hard.
His long fingers slid further and wrapped around my wrist. Not able to help myself, I wrapped my own around his. He closed his eyes then lazily opened them. I felt his pulse quicken.
“I wasn’t imagining it then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Earlier tonight, when I took your hand, I felt something in your skin. Like something familiar to me even though I know I’ve never touched you, like I’ve known your skin for years.”
Down to ten percent.
My chest constricted. “It does.”
“What did mine feel like?” he asked.
“Like my whole body was on fire, Jack.”
He smiled so wide I could tell it embarrassed him and he hung his head low to hide it. “Is that a good thing?” he asked the rooftop.
“A scary thing, but a great thing nevertheless.”
He picked his head up, the line of his throat exposed. With my free hand I ran the backs of my fingers down the side of his neck. He visibly shivered and that did something to my insides. He stood up and dragged me with him, took a deep breath and peeled the shoulder of one side of my jacket back a little. The tip of his index finger followed the line of my neck near my ear all the way down the top of my shoulder, making me sink into him.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the elevator, Adeline.”
Two percent.
“How was it?” I asked.
His eyes met mine. “Addicting,” he admitted.
I closed my eyes, afraid to look at him. “Don’t say things like that.”
“I lied. I’ve wanted to do that since the first day we were introduced.”
“Stop,” I told him, “we can’t go back to how we were if you don’t stop.”
“I don’t want to stop, though, Adeline.” He swallowed. “Do you?”
I opened my eyes and looked up at him. I hesitated but knew I couldn’t lie. “No,” I spoke low.
“Good.”
He laid a soft kiss at my shoulder, making my heart beat into my throat, then pushed my coat back over the skin but it looked like he regretted it and that washed a drugging, satisfied feeling over me.
“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he told me.
“Have you?” I asked.
He nodded, his hands finding the sides of my neck. I reached up and did the same, letting my thumb brush the line of his Adam’s apple, reveling in the fact that I made him swallow at my touch.
Yeah, I was definitely not okay with having no one to kiss at midnight. Or didn’t I have someone?
He brought his cheek to mine and smelled my hair.
“Jack,” I stated in his ear as the nearby clock chimed once, twice.
“Yes, Adeline?”
Three, four, five times.
“Have you no one to kiss at midnight?” I asked.
Six, seven, eight.
“I’ve got someone,” he answered.
Nine, ten, eleven.
“So do I.”
Twelve.
“Happy New Year, Adeline.”
“Happy New Year, Jack.”
Want more from Fisher Amelie?
Find Fisher on Barnes & Noble!
August 1, 2016
Penny in London is Live!
Hello, all! My name is Fisher Amelie and I wrote a little story called Penny in London. Thank you so much for joining us today and I hope you enjoy our little teasers on this, the day of its release. “May your first child be a masculine child.”
You know how everyone says when one door closes another one opens? At the time, you find this statement obnoxious as all get out because a) you don’t really know what the future holds, it certainly hasn’t been a cakewalk so far, and b) the thought of change is unbearable. You feel like your life is falling apart and everyone around is feeding you clichés like they’re made out of kale or quinoa or whatever the trend health food is right now. You don’t want kale clichés, you want double-chocolate fudge realisms, and you want them now. You just want things the way they were, but then something happens, a moment, an instant that sets you out on a path toward happiness you never knew could exist, and suddenly you think, huh, I don’t think I want double-chocolate fudge anymore. I think I’m in the mood for this heaping serving of strawberry cheesecake sitting in front of me…with a side of kale. And a pair of split pants, but we won’t get into that right now.
Graham Glenn may have tossed her in, but Oliver Finn made her feel again.
Find Fisher on Barnes & Noble!
July 27, 2016
Penny in London Cover Reveal!
You know how everyone says when one door closes another one opens? At the time, you find this statement obnoxious as all get out because a) you don’t really know what the future holds, it certainly hasn’t been a cakewalk so far, and b) the thought of change is unbearable. You feel like your life is falling apart and everyone around is feeding you clichés like they’re made out of kale or quinoa or whatever the trend health food is right now. You don’t want kale clichés, you want double-chocolate fudge realisms, and you want them now. You just want things the way they were, but then something happens, a moment, an instant that sets you out on a path toward happiness you never knew could exist, and suddenly you think, huh, I don’t think I want double-chocolate fudge anymore. I think I’m in the mood for this heaping serving of strawberry cheesecake sitting in front of me…with a side of kale. And a pair of split pants, but we won’t get into that right now.
Graham Glenn may have tossed her in, but Oliver Finn made her feel again.
***
Penny in London releases August 1st!
February 26, 2016
A Confession
Soon I will be having surgery. It will improve my life tenfold. It will prevent me from sometimes debilitating pain. It will save me from humiliating and often awkward conversations.
And yet I don’t really want to do it.
Because it will also leave me sterile.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “But, Fisher, you already have kids.” I know and I’m very grateful for the children God gave me. In fact, I couldn’t be more surprised by the miracles that are my children, the gifts He saw fit to give me. It’s truly humbling.
For those of you who don’t know, I have had rather difficult, high-risk pregnancies that risked not only my life but my children’s lives in the third trimester. It’s a rare condition that increases the risk of prenatal death in all carried infants in the last four weeks of gestation. It’s also why all my children were born prematurely and why I looked like a walking zombie for eight months with all three of them. It caused my liver to stop working altogether and I was forced to take toxic meds for hep c patients so I didn’t keel over while carrying them. Once my children were born, though, within hours, my body would bounce back as if nothing had happened. My liver would regenerate quickly and I didn’t look like a jaundice cancer patient after a few weeks. It was astonishing, really.
God gave me three children. Three. Three incredibly beautiful, unbelievably intelligent, outrageously creative children. And they are walking miracles. In a way, I am too.
A few years after Matt and I married, I got pregnant and was flabbergasted. It was scary, but I was so excited. Weeks flew by, the vomiting was atrocious, I started to show signs of gestational cholestasis, but didn’t know it at the time. Fifteen weeks in, the unthinkable happened. My baby died. And it was… devastating. I’d made huge announcements to my family and friends. I’d bought furniture and clothing and it was horrifying to look at them and the things I’d purchased. It was a stabbing pain to the heart and it was inexhaustible. It’s hard to put into words the pain of miscarriage, but I’m just going to put it out there. It’s death. It’s death and it’s terrible and it’s a mourning process that you deal with alone, because most people just don’t get it. They never held the baby, they never saw the baby, so, to them, that baby wasn’t real. The baby was real but only I knew them. It was like a private hell and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. My only comfort is that they are in heaven waiting for me. In GREED, you can listen to Cricket tell Spencer her motivation for reaching heaven. If you read between the lines, you can see I am talking about the infant I never got to hold.
Soon after, though, I was given a peaceful reprieve in my oldest son. It was a rough pregnancy, as you know, but he was my finish line and it was a beautiful achievement. I had trouble conceiving for a few years after him and decided that it was what it was. If I was meant to be the mom of one, then that was spectacular. But God wasn’t done yet. He gifted me a second boy. Another extraordinary light in an otherwise dark earthly world and he made me feel even brighter, which was astonishing when I thought I could have gone blind from the resplendency that was my oldest. I was open to more, but because it took so long to have my second son, I assumed it would be difficult for me to get pregnant again, but I was wrong. My third baby, a girl, was born fifteen months later, and when I saw her shining face, I discovered a pattern.
Children are addicting. You don’t just love them, you fall in love with them. They are peace in chaos. They are wonder in gloom. They are reason in decay. They are new, unblemished souls and they change you. My children saved my life.
As a human, I am inherently selfish. I was lackadaisical in most areas of my life, especially my dedication to God, but my children broke through those hard set, limestone layers of selfishness, narcissism, and self-seeking that prevented God from entering my heart and soul. They shattered the shale and my eyes were suddenly uncluttered. Truths are deeper, dishonesties are clearer, and all because I started to worry about something bigger than myself.
Which is why I am grieving.
I’m grieving the loss of hope. I’m grieving the loss of possibilities. The children that will never be. The abrupt end of it all.
I will never be able to pick up one of my infants again, bury my face in their new, warm neck and breathe in the life they give off.
And that kills me.
Which brings us to the meat of it all. They found a tumor in my uterus. Don’t worry, it’s benign. I’m lucky. My physician told me that it was now or never if I wanted to have at least one more. That was back in September. The tumor has grown so large so quickly, though, that my stomach measures six months pregnant. I get asked all the time when I’m due. Innocent curiosities on most people’s part. I don’t blame them at all. I look decidedly pregnant. It’s disproportionate. Although the questions are innocent, it still crushes me to hear them, because now the tumor is too big to carry a baby safely. I’m not even sure I could get pregnant at this point.
It is what it is.
I used to explain to people what was really wrong with me, but it just became awkward and uncomfortable. I can’t even hide it anymore. If a stranger asks me my due date, I just tell them June and move on. I can barely discuss what is going on with close family members. It’s a constant reminder of what will never be for me.
My doctor could remove the tumor, but the tissues is there, and it grows rapidly. I could be back under the knife every few months. So after a few weeks of prayer, I have decided to take my doctor’s advice and have a hysterectomy. I don’t want it, but it’s what’s best. I don’t want it but I have accepted it.
The entire point of my confession is to let you in on my world right now. A lot of readers ask what took so long with FURY. I felt so badly that I haven’t been as prolific as I’d like to with my novels, but it was simply too difficult to explain what was going on, especially since I didn’t really fully know.
I’m an intensely private person, so it’s hard for me to open up in my public life. I wanted to share this all with you anyway because, as a fellow human, I want you to know that I am aware that you suffer more than you let on as well. We all suffer in a our private worlds and I get that. I feel for you. I love you for it because I understand.
Life is full of sacrifices so I have decided to give mine to God. At least then it will all be worth it. There can be worthwhile meaning in anything, right? We just have to choose.
I write but I’m more than a writer.
I hurt but I’m more than the pain.
I exist but I’m more than my existence.
I love but I’m more than a lover.
I’m Mom, but I could NEVER be more than a mother. There has been nothing greater than that for me. It’s a microcosm of heaven, motherhood.
Keep me in your prayers. Love you all to the moon and back five times.
Peace and Love,
Fisher
May 4, 2015
FURY is live!!!!
FURY is out now! And it’s only $1.99! This week only! Get it now while it’s hot!
Amazon: http://goo.gl/MkIRzl
Barnes & Noble: http://goo.gl/fQ92Pa
Kobo: http://goo.gl/CWwc4p
iBooks: Drops May 6th!
From best selling author Fisher Amelie… FURY
Revenge is an euphoric thing. Trust me on this. Nothing compares to the release you get when you ruin someone’s life. When they’ve stolen important things. Things that didn’t belong to them. Things I revel in making them pay for.
What? Have I offended you? I’m not here to appeal to your delicate senses. I have no intention of placating your wishes or living within your personal belief system nor do I care if you hate me. And you will hate me. Because I’m a brutal, savage, cold-blooded murderer and I’m here for my revenge.
I’m Ethan Moonsong…And this is the story about how I went from the world’s most sacrificing man to the most feared and why I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
*Can be read as standalone.
***
“I looked back at Cricket. She brought her hand up to Spencer’s back. He followed suit and tucked his hand into her back pocket, incensing me. Immediately, I walked to my truck and opened the passenger side door. The knives sat in their sheaths in the glove box. I hadn’t touched them in months, and my hands itched to hold them again.
I reached for them but paused a few inches from the handles. My hands shook and my heart pounded.
“What are you doing?” I asked myself.
I shut the glove box and sat on the bench of my truck, my booted foot resting on the concrete below. I ran my hands through my hair and rested against the back of the seat, shocked I’d been even contemplating what I’d been pondering.
“What were you going to do?” I asked myself. “MURDER him?”"
#love #instagood #photooftheday #beautiful #picoftheday #instadaily #tweegram #instagramhub #bestoftheday #igdaily #webstagram #nofilter #art #instalove #Kindle
#KindleBargain #Kobo #KPD #Nook #Ebooks #books #instabook #booklove #booklover #read #reading #booknerd #book #RomanceNovel #RomanceWriter
