I've dreamed of the perfect marriage ever since I was a little girl: a marriage complete with a hardworking husband while I tended to the home and our children, preferably four little rugrats to call my own. I dreamed of a life filled with laughter...
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Beau swings me off his shoulders, and I land on the ground with a wet and very prominent squelch.
"I think we need to talk, Charlotte," Daniel says, standing before me in his signature black suit with his perfectly square jaw looking rigid and sophisticated. My stomach jumps at seeing this man, like it always does, because it's a traitor even though I'm the one who feeds it snacks. It should be on my side, not his. Honestly, there should be some kind of cosmic rule that when someone hurts you so badly, they permanently shape-shift into an ogre, complete with hairy warts and snaggle teeth.
But, that's not my luck.
Daniel looks just as good as he ever has. And, to make matters worse ... he gets to look like that, all handsome and likely smells of fresh night air and spices warming over a crackling campfire while I look like a soaked, dirty sock and probably smell like one too. It's not fair. Couldn't this little reunion happen after my post-divorce glow-up? My heart shrivels up like a dried grape, sending pain through my chest, reminding me that although my stomach is a delusional traitor, she is firmly on my side and regardless of the lousy circumstances, we need to deal with this situation so we can go on with our life.
To do that, we need to look forward.
"There's nothing more to talk--"
Oh no. No!
Llamasley, in all his spiteful glory, arrives with my woeful underwear. And, to make matters worse, he walks right up to Daniel. Right. Up. To. Him. As if they were long-lost friends getting together for a good chat and a glass of wine. I've lost all cognitive function and not a single word can seem to leave my mouth.
Earth, please, swallow me up whole.
With furrowed brows, Daniel plucks the panties from the llama's mouth and, to my absolute horror, investigates the fabric further. His pinky finger slides into one of the holes and his eyes widen when he realizes what, exactly, he's holding. I want to crawl into a hole and die. But, before he can say anything, Llamasley--clearly offended that this strange man whom he once saw as a comrade would dare take his precious, stolen underwear from him--spits a loogie so foul and with such ferocity that it lands on Daniel's left cheek with an echoing splat.
"Oh, that's nasty," Penny whispers from behind me, and no truer words have ever been spoken. Llama spit is uniquely vile. Coming from their third stomach, a stomach containing partially digested food, the sputum is thick and green and smells of rot . . .
. . . And, a wad of it is currently stuck to Daniel's face.
I bark out a laugh and immediately cover my mouth with my hands.
It's not quite the earth swallowing me whole, but maybe it's some form of cosmic balance. A win's a win, I guess.
But, my luck could only last so long. Daniel moves to wipe the spit with my underwear and I'm convinced I must have brutally murdered a colony of baby koalas in a past life because nothing, NOTHING, could explain why this is happening to me now. Luckily, Llamasley has had enough with show and tell and aggressively snatches the underwear back before the fabric ever makes contact with Daniel's face. The thieving llama then prances off, making sure to angle his head in a way so my underwear is still very much on display for all of us to see. Confidence radiates off him like the sun, and I know we haven't seen the last of him or my loathsome underwear.
